


Monsters: An AU - Ghost

by twoscarypandas



Series: Monsters: An AU [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Dark, Drama, Drugs, F/F, F/M, M/M, Organized Crime, Prostitution, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:56:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 64
Words: 227,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoscarypandas/pseuds/twoscarypandas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all begins with a murder. But while some look for the one who pulled the trigger, others take advantage of the chaos. In a city where it's drugs vs. guns vs. cops, one thing is certain: no one is safe. Multiple pairings. Dark, human AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Somewhere in America

**Author's Note:**

> Panda N: Greetings, Hetalians. What you are about to read represents the culmination of our best work so far.
> 
> PandaG: Welcome to the Monstersverse. "Ghost" is Part 1 of an epic Hetalia series, which takes place in a human alternate universe.  
> *UPDATE - 4/29/16: Due in part to comments from you lovely readers, we decided not to separate the story into multiple parts. There is a chance that we will eventually add some deleted scenes and a prequel or sequel, but Ghost will now stand alone (and be much longer than originally planned).
> 
> Panda N: FAIR WARNING, Y'ALL: It involves sex, violence, drugs, and all that other stuff kids aren't supposed to read about-- the version on FF.net has been parred down to meet with FF's guidelines. You can find the full version on AO3, and some extras on our Tumblr.
> 
> PandaG: You can find links to all of these on our profile - including a YouTube trailer!  
> A note on names - Because everyone in this 'verse is human, we are using the canon/popular fanon human names for the characters, and created names for those who do not have one. These include:  
> Holly Nethers - Netherlands/Holland  
> Bella - Belguim  
> Hans - Germania  
> If you get confused, check out tumblr! We'll be posting a handy character chart soon.
> 
> Panda N: As you can see-- this story comes with all the bells and whistles. This work is COMPLETE, but due to the editing process we cannot confirm how many chapters are in the entire series. "Ghost" has nineteen chapters including the prologue. We hope you enjoy the adventure.

Prologue: Somewhere in America

The night is cool and crisp - it feels like rain, though there is none. But the bar is hot and packed with people. Many of them are unfamiliar faces; there's been a surplus of those. Ever since Ivan Braginski, known in most circles as Ivan the Terrible, began frequenting the Silver Stein it felt like the faces Toris was used to had been appearing less and less, replaced by the rougher, meaner faces of strangers.

He wipes down a puddle of spilled beer, peering over in the direction of that smoky corner. Ivan does not smoke, but he has many associates who do. And they are all thirsty. He takes his tray in hand, glancing at his cellphone as it flashes. He'll get it in a moment, he promises himself. These gentlemen are not the kind one keeps waiting.

From his office in the back, Hans can hear the packed house. Such a racket used to make him happy. But tonight it does not; not for the last month, in fact. Too many thugs, too many angry faces hanging around his bar. He misses the days when they stayed north of here, contained, allowing the customers who brought no (well, less) trouble to come. He peeks out the door and sees some of them gathered at the bar. Poor Toris is rushed off his feet with drink orders, and the men eye the bartender’s form like he's on the top shelf. “Do you need a hand out there? I can come out in a moment.”

“I-- I'm okay!” Toris calls to his boss, hefting the tray into his arms and heading out to the tables. Serving drinks is as natural as anything else now. Even such a heavy tray is no real struggle. It's just the presence in the back corner that gives him a bad feeling in the center of his gut.

Tucking a strand of long grey hair behind his ear, Hans watches Toris go. Despite Toris’ reassurances, he gives up on his accounts and heads for the bar. They may _just_ be able to keep the place another month, if he doesn't pay himself. Toris can't work for free anymore – not with his boyfriend so sick. He's been getting enough in tips to cover medicine, and Hans has been letting him take food home, but bar food can't sustain a man for three meals a day. “Who ordered beer?” Hans starts filling steins as fast as they fly toward him.

From his table in the back corner, Ivan grins at Toris, teeth showing as he beckons him a little closer. He takes the drinks out of the bartender’s hands and begins passing them to his associates, just so there's an excuse to keep the man there for another moment. Toris is pretty: moss green eyes, long brown hair tied back out of his face, showing off soft features. Ivan’s hand slides easily against the other's fingers as he reaches for his drink - vodka. Straight, no ice. “Good evening, Toris? Many customers tonight. Is good for business.”

“Yeah...” Toris trails off, looking at the bar – anywhere but Ivan. The man constantly looks at him like he wants to tear off his clothes and pull him into his lap, and Toris hates the way his blood hums at that thought. But Ivan is a nasty man to tangle with – not one he'd ever want to piss off. “More than we should be getting on a Sunday.”

Natalia, a pretty girl with long, pale blonde hair and ice for eyes, clings to her brother's arm and _glares_ at the waiter. She hates him. She hates the way Ivan looks at him, the way Ivan makes every effort to talk to the boy, to be around him. She would kill him, only that would make her brother angry. You'd have to be stupid to make Ivan angry on purpose. “Don't you have work to do?”

Ivan pulls away from her, uncomfortable. “Natalia, enough.” Toris is already taking that as an excuse to leave, but he catches his apron. “Tell Hans I will pay him double what I offered last time,” says Ivan. “He will listen to you. Is ten times more than this place is worth; he knows that. You will still have a job; _better_ job. I will pay you very well.”

Toris’ attention is pulled to the young lady constantly with Ivan, her eyes narrowed on his face. He blushes a little. It's Ivan’s sister; he was told the first time they came. Though sometimes she acts as though they are lovers, they are clearly not. His eyes flick to Ivan's face and for a second his breathing stutters. Ivan _is_ attractive, for a very dangerous man.

“Yeah.” He sets Natalia’s drink down, refusing to let himself meet Ivan's eyes. “I will.” He won't. But as long as Ivan thinks he'll do it, he'll be alive.

\---

Not too far away, three men collapse in a bed on the third floor of the Rainbow Hotel and Spa, half dead from the bliss of completing the oft imagined, rarely attempted Eiffel Tower. At the Rainbow, however, it is not an unusual feat to perform not only the Eiffel Tower, but the Reverse Eiffel Tower. Their star employee had pioneered it. Said star employee – one Francis Bonnefoy – breathes in the scent of sex and incense, a combination only to be found in Kiku's room. Then he rolls over to offer their client and Kiku a kiss each.

“Oh, mes cheris, that was lovely.” Francis speaks fluent French, though these days it is largely because his customers find it erotic. His mother was born in France, told him stories, showed him pictures. That was a long time ago. He has never been to France, though he has dreamed of it so many times he can walk the streets of Paris whenever he closes his eyes. Gilbert promised to take him there. The thought makes him smile a little, if bitterly. Gilbert is a damnable liar, and far from the first to make such stupid boasts while pulling off his clothes. Francis is a fool himself; he knows Gilbert is a liar, and loves him still, far more than he should.

Kiku sees the sad look cross Francis' eyes, the one that those who pay here will never notice. But his friends know it too well. He leans up and kisses him again, cuddling close to the man by his side so that the customer knows they are still there for him.

“My friend, always a pleasure.” Kiku smiles, touching Francis’ cheek and hoping to bring him back to himself. The Rainbow’s employees promised to meet at the bar in the casino after all appointments had ended, but Francis will not go with them. He always stays longer with Gilbert – longer than he is paid to stay.

Francis smiles for real in return - or at least, as real as any of them ever do. Kiku understands more than most, perhaps. He has a lover of his own; a real one, who does not pay because Kiku will not let him. Heracles brings flowers instead. There are live orchids in the corner, and Kiku tends to them with a tenderness most reserve for children.

Francis stretches, kissing their customer as he slides over him and out of the bed. His clothes are not hard to find. Nights with Kiku are always neat. He gives himself a once-over with one of the waiting towels, intent on a shower before his next appointment, then pulls on his pants.

“You must excuse me, my dear,” he tells the john, leaning in close against his ear and running his fingers over the man's slick chest. “I hate to leave such an _impressive_ gentleman so soon, but I am afraid I have a guest I cannot keep waiting. I am sure Kiku can take care of you, non?”

Kiku cuddles in close, dragging his tongue over the shell of the customer's ear, making him groan and distracting him from the departing Francis. “I'm sure I can come up with a few things to keep him from missing you.” He laughs a little, reaching over and smacking that all too tempting ass, leaning over just out of sight. Frances deserves a spanking sometimes. He hates to see him waste his nights with a man who cares very little for anyone but himself. “Have fun.”

Francis chuckles, tugging on Kiku's hair so the customer has access to the pretty, pale expanse of his neck. “Not nearly so much fun as _you_ will have, I am sure!” A lie, or perhaps not. A platitude to keep the customer happy. He really shouldn't be leaving; Elizabeta, the Rainbow’s Madame, would have his hide if it were not worth so very much. Gilbert pays well, anyway. He wonders if Toni will come along tonight, or wait until later. It's always more fun when all three of them are together; that way he doesn't feel guilty for loving them both.

He blows a kiss, shirt slung over his back, and shuts the door. Incense lingers in the hall, on his skin, Kiku's ghost following him as he makes his way down the line of rooms. He can hear Sesel’s high-pitched, pretty moans from one room, and nods to Gupta as he passes with a blushing young thing. It’s good business; that will make Liza happy, so perhaps she won’t be too angry with him after all.

\---

Around the corner at La Citta Fortunata (The Lucky City), the usual roughousing is just getting underway. But not between the customers. Like clockwork, every weekend night Heracles Karpusi and Sadik Adnan, the night bouncers, get into it over some stupid something or other. It’s a routine you can set your watch by.

Gilbert "Awesomesauce" Beilschmidt (the nickname of his own invention) and his best friend, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, breeze past them, heading toward the Rainbow. Gilbert sends the bouncers a cheerful wave they barely see. They are far too focused on yelling at each other to check IDs, let alone notice anyone leaving.

“-you're a fucking dumbass, that's why! I don't know why he puts up with you. He's probably just too polite to tell you to go away.” Sadik pulls the hood of his green sweatshirt further down. It's a warm night for November, especially with the heat of La Citta at his back, but he's never without the hoodie or his white half-mask. Better not to let them see your face. If no one knows what you look like, no one can rat on you. Not that the cops around here care all that much. If they're not dirty, they're going to be.

“Oh, _I'M_ a dumbass?! You - _you're_ the one who's wasting all your fucking pay on booze! Or “freelancing” for that poisonous fucker down the street!” Hera hisses through his teeth, pissed off that Sadik would _dare_ insinuate that Kiku's just keeping him around out of pity. He narrows his eyes. “I wonder what Feliciano would think if he knew you were offering your special brand of tough guy to Ivan B.?”

Sadik glances around, making sure there are no little birds who might have heard _that_ particular bit. Feli is one of Gilbert's favorite puppies, and certainly one of the more dangerous members of La Citta’s gang. A thing like that could leave him with a bloody smile and an extra hole between the eyes. The little Italian does not cut nearly as terrifying a figure as Gilbert himself, but Feli is not kind to those who spread their loyalties around. Sadik doesn’t believe in loyalty like that. Whoever pays the most is the boss, be it Beilschmidt, Braginski, or Wang. It’s a damn good thing Hera doesn’t seem to know about that last one.

He can see Antonio and Gilbert still, about to round the corner. Thankfully, they're too far to hear and talking loudly about their favorite prostitute. Figures. He turns and slams Hera against the wall. “Shut up you little shit. You tryin' to get me killed? I swear, you open your mouth again, I'm going to make it so the Good Doctor has to wire it shut.”

“Go ahead, asshole! You fucking _try_ it!” Hera pushes Sadik back, sending him stumbling a couple of feet away. Hera doesn't care if Gil shoots Sadik right between the eyes. He's tired of this asshole getting paid to do _shit_ , while he _works_ and gets paid half as much. At least Feliciano likes him. That always bodes well. Word in the inner circle is if you can get the Italians on your side, you're set. “You think you're gonna last in this crew?! Fuck no! Might as well just jump over the fence so I'd have the fucking right to shoot you!”

Sadik snorts. “Oh yeah? You couldn't hit a goddamned corpse!” He pulls up his sweatshirt, hand going to his gun. Chances are they'll both pull them, then toss the weapons aside to go after each other with fists. Less messy. Much more fun. He almost grins. “Least I get my jobs from brains and brawn, not sucking cock. Why don't you go down and ask 'Liza to let you have a room? Then you could leave Kiku the fuck alone!”

The mention of Kiku's name sends Hera’s blood boiling. “Bastard!” He throws his gun aside, running at the man with balled fists. The first punch he throws misses horribly, but the second at least clocks him in the side of the head. “I'll kill you!”

“Right on schedule.” Holly mumbles to himself, rolling his eyes. He can hear them shouting insults even from his table in this little back alley, filled with dumpsters from the casino. It's no wonder kids can waltz right into the Casino and have a chat with the big boys. The dangerous ones. At least Gilbert doesn't talk the kids into working for him, unlike Ivan and Yao. But that's their business. His job is not to ask questions. What does he need to get involved for, anyway? There are plenty of junkies, always will be. As long as Yao Wang supplies, he'll deliver. Speaking of...he smirks as a familiar face steps into the alley, briefly lit by the casino’s flashing lights. “Well, well. If it isn't the long arm of the law.”

Just when Arthur thinks he's used to the jabs, someone gets him every time. He sneers at Holly, sick of it, and sick with need for supplies. There's a new drug on the street, one that's supposed to calm you down and lift you into a nice, easy place. He hasn't been sleeping well, and smoking a pipe just isn't doing it for him anymore.  “Stuff it, ye.” He's been living here for too long; his accent won't fade, but his patience definitely has. “Want my money or not?”

Holly chuckles. It's almost too easy to push Artie's buttons. “Your money is the only thing I like about you.” He waits. He never reaches for his stash until he sees real money, and never hands over a fix until the cash is in his hand. He knows most of his usuals’ preferences; they get hooked on one thing, and stick with it. Artie hops around, unsatisfied. He intends to see him satisfied, because a satisfied customer is a return customer. “What's your flavor?”

Arthur slides into the free chair and leans his elbows on the high top, slapping cash on the table. He's been paid very well this month. Not by his job of course, but by others. The ones who pay him to look certain ways, be it to the ground or to someone they'd like out of the way, no mess. “M'lookin' for that dreamer shitte. S'market price, yeah?” He shoves the money across the table.

Now _that_ is what Holly likes to see. He thumbs through it, fingering the bills and holding one up to the street light. Seems legit. He reaches for the stash, hidden behind him among the garbage bags that so rarely make it to the dumpster. It works out well for him; who would know one of those black sacks was filled with drugs? He pulls out a bottle of pills; there aren't many in it. The new stuff doesn't come cheap or easily, and he only just managed to convince Yao it was worth the trouble. It's a damn good thing he was right. Yao's got a thing for making sure you remember your mistakes. No one fucks up twice.

Holly holds out the bottle, shaking it so Arthur can see. “Shit'll get you there. For a while, anyway. You'll be back in time for uniform inspection. Or do they do it Spartan style now and strip you down? I hear your chief's got a rod pretty far up his ass.”

“Ta', mate. You don't know the bloody half,” Artie says, making conversation, because – to be fair – he's not blind and Holly is among the prettiest things he's ever seen in handcuffs. Fuck, he'd like to try _that_ some time. But it's bad form to arrest your best dealer.

The bottle is light, but that's fair. Man's gotta make a living, and from what Arthur hears, getting the doctor-grade shitte just got a lot harder. They have a maniac pulling the stuff out of hospitals now. “Guess management's switchin' up all over these days. You still bein' pushed around by the dragon boy?”

“Say that to his face and see what happens to you. Him and his whole fucking family are nuts.” Holly shakes his head. Fucking is right; the man screws his own brother. Granted, the China Doll is damn pretty—one of the prettiest whores at the Rainbow. He certainly doesn't mind paying for a piece of that. “Anything else I can get you?” He looks around now. He can't have a cop, even a dirty one, hanging around too long. Scares away his customers.

Arthur rolls his eyes, shoving the bottle in his jacket pocket. “Yeah. A fuckin' lay. Where the fuck's Frannie been? Haven't been able to get an appointment in months, innit? S'he out of the game now?”

There's so much Holly could say to that, but he's eager to be rid of Artie now and doesn't feel like arguing. “You kidding? The man's got more addicts than I do. I swear he shoves crack up their asses or something. You won't get in with him tonight, anyway. Everyone knows Gilbert's got his name stamped across Frannie's ass on Sundays. It's like his fucking church. Toni, too. But there're plenty of other lovelies over there.”

Arthur sighs, his mind sliding to Francis and his lovely ass. The man certainly is an addiction. Fucking him is the only thing he's ever found to calm his body to a good night's sleep. “Pass.” He slides off his stool and heads out, freeing Holly up for his customers. He needs to find somebody to work him over, but he's starting to find that there are very few people who bring him that right bliss. Looks like he's in for a lonely night. Thank God for pills, legal or not.

\---

Back at the bar, there is total chaos. Drinks are being flung left and right, and with the amount of people crushing the bartop, Toris is starting to feel claustrophobic. He doesn’t worry, though. When Ivan's drinks slow down, he tends to get unhappy. When he gets unhappy, anyone who stands between him and his vodka better get out of the way.

In preparation, Toris makes him a vodka, straight up. Then after a moment of indecision, cuts a slice of green apple and garnishes the glass. A) So that he knows which one is for Ivan, and B)... He doesn’t know. He kind of wanted to. Shaking off the odd feeling of _guilt_ , he keeps slinging drinks, waiting for his unlikely hero to clear the bartop.

Meanwhile, Hans is on the phone in his office, the conversation getting more and more heated. It’s his grandson Ludwig, and he sounds pissed. A little drunk, too. He is ranting in German, and for a minute Hans is so shocked at the sound of him _shouting_ that he doesn’t know what Ludwig is saying at all. So he waits for him to stop, then tells him to speak slower – a direction Luddy ignores completely. But he can make out the name 'Feli,' which is never a good sign.

The vodka glass in Ivan’s hand is empty. It has been a full fifteen minutes since it was refilled. He looks toward the bar and frowns. It's packed; poor Toris looks overwhelmed. A piece of hair is falling into his face; it makes Ivan want to pull it, just to see if Toris’ screams are as pretty as he thinks they would be. Vodka. Definitely time for more vodka. He shoves his sister away and rises. Almost instantly, a path is cleared.

Toris sees him coming and at once takes a breath. Thank God. The glass with the green apple slice is shoved across the bartop at his approach, and he throws the rest of the orders - two beers and a gin and tonic - to their wary owners.

 _“Smart boy,”_ thinks Ivan. Smart, useful, pretty. He _wants_ this one, and Ivan always gets what he wants, one way or another. He will use force if he has to, but he much prefers to find a weak point, a place where he can slip inside their heads and reach down until he can squeeze their very soul. It's only then that they are truly loyal – one with him, so to speak. He snaps the apple in half, offering one part, dipped in vodka, to Toris. “You look very tired, Toris. Is everything alright?”

The bartender looks down at the apple, staring at it between Ivan's fingers for a long, shaky moment. But he doesn't take it. He grips the beer in his hand, slotted for a patron at the end of the bar, and for the fortieth time this week wonders why Ivan had to take such an interest in _him_. His eyes flick to his phone as it buzzes; another message from home. Feliks. God, he misses him. Breathing in slowly, he looks back toward Ivan and finds himself shaken. His eyes are violet. Actually violet, like nothing he's ever seen. “I am tired. It's been a long night.”

Ivan is disappointed, but Toris has given away plenty. He snaps the apple between his teeth, a sharp crunch. It's sweet; too sweet for him, but he smiles anyway. “Da, da. Longer when there is trouble at home.” He shoots a meaningful look to Toris' phone, but ends by cocking his head toward the office where the old man is arguing in German.

Toris’ jaw sets, and this time he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on Ivan's eyes. Violet or not, they are not going to fuck with him tonight. He has too much going on. He doesn't want any part of whatever Ivan's trying to do to him. “Trouble? Got trouble at home tonight, sir?” He pours him another, straight, no apple. Fuck whatever weird instincts are screwing with his brain.

There’s a loud “FICK” from the back room. Hans is getting worried now; Gilbert's name was in there _with_ Feli’s. Ludwig sounds near livid, talking about Gil and Feli and something about pictures. He doesn't understand. He rubs a finger over his brow. “Luddy, Luddy, just calm down. Talk slow.”

Ivan has one ear on that conversation, but the other is still on Toris. He’s found a sore spot, that much is clear. That's all that matters. These things take time, and if things go the way he planned, he will have _plenty_ of time with this one. “I never have trouble I cannot take care of. Is your boss who sounds upset. He is getting old; he should take time off, enjoy life away from foolish grandchildren who do nothing but bicker, gamble, and fuck.”

His gaze slides briefly to the large window by the door, looking out beyond the deck and across the street to the hotel and casino. He can see Gilbert and Antonio talking as they travel between the two. They bump fists once, and part ways. He swallows his vodka.

With another curse, Hans hangs up and heads for the door, not bothering with anything but his keys and his wallet. He needs to get to Ludwig before he does something rash. Something is very, very wrong tonight. “Hold down the bar until Bella gets here,” he calls to Toris, not looking at his apparent conversation partner. He heads out the door, fast.

Toris nearly groans. Fuck. There goes any shot of getting out early tonight. He sighs, pouring Ivan another. The man can hold his booze and then some. “Yeah, boss,” he calls back, glancing at his phone again. Feliks... He needs to get home to Feliks. But for now, he needs to deal with Ivan. “As I'm sure you know, getting away from your family is not so easy.” He almost smirks at the jibe, but snuffs it in the last second. Natalia has been eyeing them for the last few minutes with disdain.

Luckily for Toris, Ivan barely hears the comment. He's watching through the window. Never one to waste an opportunity, he finishes his drink and throws down his tab, plus something for Toris. “Hold her down until I'm out of here.” Pressing through the crowd, he makes it out the door before Natalia can so much as stand.

Toris sighs, watching the girl stand, furious. But he has a little pink drink waiting for her. “Compliments of your brother.” He smiles, almost glad to say it, because Christ Almighty, even if he doesn't want to fuck Ivan, he doesn't want his sister to get there either. That's just... _wrong_. Luckily, she'll take anything that's a sign of her brother's affection with relish.

Natalia glowers at Toris and snatches the drink from him. Clearly Ivan is trying to make up for leaving so quickly. He does that often; most likely it is something for work. The man is married to his work; a shame, in her opinion, but she will do anything to see him succeed.

When he sees Bella fly through the door, perpetually late, Toris can’t help but sigh with relief. He pulls off his apron as he gives her a rundown of the night, then heads around back to grab his phone from behind the bar. Thank God the night is _over_. He heads out the door as fast as he possibly can, but suddenly there's a loud, hard _crack!_ that makes him duck. Gunshot. Oh Shit. That was close, too. His mind flits to Ivan for but a second before he's _running_ home, hoping to get to his safe, happy corner of the world before he runs into something bad.

 


	2. Triple Homicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vosh introduces rookie cops Alfred and Matthew to the case that will change their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Once again, we're using canon/fanon names, but you'll see a new one in this chapter: **Roma Vargas/Old Roma - Ancient Rome**
> 
> Check out our **cover art on Tumblr** (twoscarypandas DOT tumblr DOT com)! There's more than one murderer in the midst - can you tell who?
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

Alfred isn’t shocked to be called in for a meeting with the chief. They have them almost daily now, since the event that shook up the whole damn town. He _is_ a little surprised to see Mattie there, as well as the too-somber look on Chief Zwingli’s face.

Swallowing his usual chipper greeting, he plops down in a chair across the desk, lounging in its tight, square leather and looking around. There are crime scene photos and rap sheets hanging everywhere. What a mess. What a fucking mess this whole thing turned out to be.

Chief Zwingli, or Vosh as he is known to those who are not his subordinates, sighs and rubs at his temples. There is not enough coffee in the world to gear him up for this. At least his addiction of choice is a legal one. That's more than can be said for over half of the cops around here. He drops both hands behind his back, pacing in front of the boys. They're young; rookies, but not too bad for all that. God knows they need the new blood. He's hoping a few new sets of eyes will shine some light into the dark corners where this sort of shit goes down. Of course, this isn't the regular sort of shit. This is much bigger.

He stops pacing to stand in front of them, back straight and arms at his sides. “I've got new assignments for you. You had better be ready, because this is where the training wheels come off.”

Alfred looks from Vosh to Mattie, slightly perplexed. Are they about to be promoted? Sweet! No more stupid rookie jokes! He grins at his friend and neighbor, leaning back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other. “This is about Bad Touch Gilbert, isn't it?” His eyes flit to the bloody crime scene photos pinned to the wall.

A bit of breakfast tries to slither its way back up Matthew’s throat. He swallows and stares straight ahead at the chief, trying to ignore the pictures. The chief is pristine, from his perfectly straight blonde hair to boots so polished he can see his reflection in them. Vosh is a shining example of order amongst chaos. Mattie’s own hair refuses to stay in any particular order, and his glasses are always getting smudged. In this line of work, however, that helps him. He's ordinary, forgettable. That's why he's been sent to slip in and out of places, gathering intelligence and helping them set up stings. But those were all in the nicer parts of the city - relatively speaking. If Alf's right, they're about to be tossed into the city's rotten heart. He swallows again.

Vosh nods curtly. “It's a damn mess, to be perfectly frank. Not a single reliable witness so far. Naturally, everyone heard something, saw something. They're chomping at the bit to throw one another to the wolves. Yet the crime scene's been trampled, there's enough DNA to arrest the whole damn city, and...” He shakes his head and turns to the mounted screen on the far wall. “Let me show you what we _do_ have. That will be faster.”

Alfred sighs, propping his elbows up on the chair arms and linking his fingers together so that he can rest his chin on the links. This case is all anybody's been talking about for the last two weeks. “Okay, Chiefster. Who's been gunning for this asshole? Like, the whole town?”

“Yes.” An obvious answer for an obvious question. The screen comes to life, already loaded with his slides. Most of them match the ones papering his walls, but here they're displayed in all the gory glory of high definition. Vosh pulls out his pointer and jabs the tip at the first of the three faces that overlay a photo of the crime scene. This one is an albino; very hard to miss. “I'm sure you can both recognize this one. Gilbert Beilschmidt is his real name, though he's known by plenty of others. He was a major player at La Citta, and throughout most of the city; the closest to really running the whole operation since Old Roma back in the thirties. The Sunday before last, somebody took him out.” He points to one of the bodies. “That would be him, minus his brains and a good portion of his skull. Close range shot.”

Alfred whistles low under his breath, shaking his head in dismay. “That's a hell of a shot.” Squinting behind his glasses, he takes a close look at the mess on the pavement, disregarding the blood that is making his stomach twist. “Right between the eyes. Somebody wanted to watch this guy go.”

“It's a long list,” says Vosh. “You'll be getting that soon enough. It's the other victims that might help us narrow things down.”

He points to the second image, a young man with green eyes, an olive complexion, and dark hair hanging over his ears. “Heracles Karpusi. He worked as muscle for the Casino.” The body is further back in the crime scene, and there's an EMT with him in the frame. “First shot took out some ribs. Second to the head got messy. He bled out when they took him to Mercy, died on the table. Got himself a lover at the Rainbow who's pretty beat up about it. Better yet, he's got a short list of enemies and just one at the top.”

“ _Hah_! Saddy, old pal, you fucked up this time!” Alfred slides down in the chair, shaking his head as he smirks to himself. That bastard. It's about damn time Sadik got into it far enough for someone to slap cuffs on him. “I've been waiting to take him down for years, just for being an obnoxious bastard.”

Vosh glares. The kid's going to get himself killed running into something half-cocked one of these days. “There's always complications. We took Mr. Adnan in within the first few days, but we couldn’t hold him. There’s just not enough evidence.”

He points to the last face on the screen, this one an old, stern-looking man with a braid of grey hair falling over one shoulder. “I bet you're too young to know who our third vic is. Most wouldn't recognize him anymore.” Vosh can still see it, though. He’s stared at that face in the archives, in old newspaper clippings, in the only museum in town. The eyes haven't changed; they're still just as blue and hard. It felt like a piece of history died when he closed them that night. “Hans Beilschmidt. They used to call him the Barbarian.”

Alfred looks from the picture to Mattie, then back to the picture. The man is old-ish, but not even close to ailing health if those broad shoulders and sharp eyes can speak for the rest of him. “He looks familiar. Didn't he own the dry cleaner's around the corner? No, no... Wait, no! The book store! Right, Mattie? He owned that book store-- Wait. No. That guy's not the book store guy. Um...” He shrugs. “Don't know him.”

Mattie sucks in a breath. He’s seen that face before, but it's only now he realizes who the man really was. “Th-the bar. He owned the bar. But he's...”

“That's right,” says Vosh. “Which is why I'm not sure if he's an outlier or the connecting piece of the puzzle. He was Old Roma's partner, back when this city was alive and bright. He's also Gilbert's grandfather. Which brings us to Ludwig.”

The screen changes, showing several candid shots of a blonde man with his grandfather's eyes. He looks powerful and strong; certainly not one to be tangled with. “That would be the last surviving Beilschmidt,” Vosh explains. “He's Gilbert's younger brother. Sibling rivalry is always an obvious choice when this much power is involved. Ludwig seems to have taken over the casino crowd these days, and he's got the Italians on his side.”

Another set of pictures appears, these of brothers much more clearly related than Gilbert and Ludwig. They share chestnut hair that curls on just one side and bright brown eyes, but where one always smiles the other always frowns. “Feliciano and Lovino Vargas.” Vosh hears Alfred snort and rounds on him. “What? You think they look like pushovers?”

“I think they look like prostitutes,” Alfred laughs, waving a hand at the two flamboyantly dressed partyboys who seem to be having a good time in every picture. They’re cute. Very, actually. Ludwig's a lucky man if he's got both of them playing for his team. “They're adorable. Like kittens or something. C'mon, look at them! They practically scream air-head rich boys!”

Vosh scowls and pulls up a different crime scene. This is a close up of two men, bullets in their brains and a pair of gaping wounds that split their cheeks from ear to ear. The bodies are in rough shape; there are letters etched into their chests and bruises so deep you can see the impression of the gun butt that made them. “That would be some of their suspected work. The mouth wounds are Feli's signature. Not that we can ever hold him to it, seeing as the Italians manage to win over practically every cop, lawyer, and judge they encounter.”

Alfred is shocked, horrified by the picture, and he turns away to keep himself from hurling. Mattie is white as a sheet. “Okay then.” He giggles nervously. “How do we, ah, deal with them? Or do we have to? What've they got to do with this?”

The headache has only gotten worse. Vosh rubs his temples as he replies, “It's very likely you'll run into them. They are...charming, in person. Charming enough to make you forget this.” He gestures to the image, though he's seen it enough times that whenever he encounters the brothers, his vision is filled with mangled faces. “They are Roma Vargas' grandsons. La Citta is technically theirs by inheritance, but Gilbert's been running the show for a long time. That's plenty of motive. But for this one, they barely make the top five list. This,” the picture changes again, “is Ivan Braginski.” The image is of a pale man with such light blonde hair it seems white. Everything about him is cold, especially the strange violet eyes. “You might've heard him called Ivan the Terrible or Poison Ivan.”

Matthew takes it all in, a little at a time, growing steadily paler. Paler than the man on the screen. These are big names; dangerous names. He has yet to encounter any of them, but he has met their lackeys in other parts of the city and heard all manner of tales. He thought a lot of them were exaggerated, but after all of this he's not so sure.

Beside him, Alfred only nods. He’s always been able to take things in stride, smiling through their worst days at the academy and on the force. “I've seen that guy. He's like some big mobster dickweed.” Leaning back in his chair, he sighs, taking in the thought of, perhaps, dealing with this motherfucker. Or sisterfucker, as the case may be. No one seems to be quite sure what’s going on _there._ “He's a jerk. Isn't he, like, about guns and stuff? Not ponies?”

“No one is running the horse races anymore,” Vosh replies. “I'm sure you recall the one thing we actually managed to get _done_ in this god forsaken district. Murder, gambling, drugs, prostitution? Not a problem according to the council, but apparently if you get some animals involved they'll send out the big tanks.” He shakes his head, trying to clear the bitterness from his voice. It was a good thing. The thing that had led to his promotion. Some days he thinks that promotion was more of a punishment, though.

“Yes, Braginski is an arms dealer. Though he appears to prefer blunt force,” Vosh continues, pulling up another brutal crime scene. You cannot tell by looking if the poor soul is a man or a woman, or if that bloody pulp was ever even human. Vosh remembers the bastard shrugging when they questioned him, telling them to show a picture of spaghetti to the Italians and send him some vodka. “Braginski is one of our chief suspects on this case. Several witnesses reported that he followed the elder Mr. Beilschmidt out of the Silver Stein – or rather, out of ‘Vodka Now!’ Mr. Beilschmidt's death was most convenient; Braginski bought the bar from the city for a fraction of what he allegedly offered the deceased. The lawyers are still trying to argue out how he managed that one when Mr. Beilschmidt left the Stein to his grandsons.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow. “That dive? Dude, that one's easy. I know one of Luddy's men. Ludwig was practically raised in that bar. It's like friggin' purgatory for him. He never wanted it anyway, it was that albino brother of his. Besides, from what I hear, the bar was going under.”

Well. It looks to Vosh like he was right; Alfred will be useful after all. When he pays attention, that is. He offers Alfred a notebook. “Cite your source. I'll look into it. For now, we have more to cover.”

He brings up the next image, this one of a dark-skinned man, his face nearly hidden by the hood of his sweatshirt and his eyes covered by a white mask. Smart move, damn him. He's never been able to get a clean image of the man's face. “Here’s your friend, Jones. Sadik Adnan. There's all manner of death threats between him and our second vic, Mr. Karpusi. It is no secret he got into a fight with Mr. Karpusi the night of the shooting - and probably every night before that when they were in the same vicinity. They both worked as muscle for La Citta, but Adnan has worked for others in the past; in fact, we have reason to suspect La Citta is not his only employer right now. Unfortunately, as I told you, we had to release Mr. Adnan due to the lack of evidence.”

Alfred nods. “Saddy is... possible. It's really hard to link him to Gil, though. I mean, they were buddies. Plus, according to the late Heracles, Gil didn't mind him freelancing, as long as nobody found out, because they usually spent the money together. Went to that dealer that practically lives behind the casino and... you know. Got themselves a good time.”

“Therein lies the problem. There's a flaw in every story. We're missing pieces, and I don't like it.” Vosh turns to his rookies, clicking his feet together and eyeing them seriously. “That's why I'm sending you in. You'll be dressed as civilians, undercover. _Try_ to blend. I need new eyes on the situation.” _“Eyes that haven't been paid to look the other way...yet,_ ” he adds to himself, then continues:

“Ask questions, but be subtle. Make friends. You're not total fools, I should hope, so I trust you know not to go waltzing up to any of the big boys and announce you're taking them in. Watch the dealers, too. They're like fingers, reaching into everything that happens around here. And Yao Wang is the hand.” The screen changes one more time to an Asian man with long, black hair and a smirk. “He doesn't tend to get his hands dirty like the others do, but that family has been a step ahead of the rest of us for longer than I've been stationed here.”

Mattie barely pays attention to the drug lord. He's still focused on the fact that Vosh really is sending them _there_ , right into the heart of this mess. He tries to keep his hands from shaking. Just how are they supposed to navigate all of that? He's been undercover before; he's good at slipping in and out unnoticed. But this isn't just skirting the edges anymore. This is walking into a hornet's nest. “Um, s-sir, you can't mean to send us...I mean, not that I – _we -_ can't do our jobs, but this is...maybe someone with more experience?”

Alfred, on the other hand, stares at the picture in shock for a moment. Yao Wang looks like he's maybe 26? 27? Not the seasoned druglord he's supposed to be. But he's snapped out of it when Mattie asks his stupid question. He whips around and grins. “Oh, C'mon, Mattie! We can handle this, piece of cake! We're the good guys! Good guys always win!”

Vosh speaks over the optimistic Alfred. “Of course I'm not sending you in alone. You'll be working with one of our veterans.”

There's a knock on the door. Right on time; what a miracle. Granted, that is probably because this meeting has already run fifteen minutes late. Vosh opens it to welcome the last of their party. “Lieutenant Kirkland, come in.” He steps back so a short blonde man can enter, then gestures to the rookies. “I'll introduce you to your new partners: Officers Alfred Jones and Matthew Williams. You've met, I believe?”

Arthur blinks blearily, at first wondering if he's seeing double. Then he blinks again, and he stands up a little straighter. “Well.” He clears his throat, first eyeing one, and then the other. Fine ass on that one. And the sweetest little mouth on the other. “Well, well, well. Right then. Ah... Let's bring them up to speed?”

The chief’s head gives a violent pound. He's hoping to try some of the herbal tea his sister made for him; _anything_ to help. “Already done. Unless you've anything to add?”

Arthur clears his throat again. These two are going to be distracting. “No, no. I trust you have informed them of everything they need to know, Chief. Very thorough, you are. Ah...” He reaches a hand toward the cute one. “Pleasure to meet you.” His eyes flick toward the handsome one. “And you, of course.”

Mattie ducks his head in greeting, blushing at the way the older officer looks them over. Kirkland's eyes are bloodshot. There's something off with him. He reaches out to take the offered hand anyway-

“Awesome!” Alfred takes Arthur's hand before Mattie can. “Three Musketeers, man! One for all, and all for one!” He blinks, looking toward Vosh. “What does that phrase even mean, Chief?”

_Gallons of tea. Gallons of tea, and just FIVE MINUTES of peace!_ Vosh probably won't get either. “It means you look out for one another.” He looks at all three meaningfully. Look out for one another...yes. And report back. He knows there's a leak in his ship, several; canon-sized holes, all of them. He just doesn't have the people or the money to weed out the bad ones and fill in the spaces. He has to take what he gets. “Now get ready. I want you out there by this afternoon. Get a feel for the place before night hits and it comes awake.”


	3. Vodka Now!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan takes over management of the bar, and Toris is introduced to the Braginski family: sweet Katyusha, bitter Natalia, and the stepbrothers Eduard and Raivis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panda N: We forge onward!  
> PandaG: TO GLORY!  
> Panda N: TO HOMOSEXUALITY!  
> PandaG: TO DEATH!  
> Panda N: ...  
> PandaG: ...I mean...please enjoy the chapter. And REVIEW! We adore reviews.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

The Silver Stein had been rechristened Vodka Now!, a catchy name for a place now haunted by Russians. Ivan was apparently pleased with his ownership of VN!, because he kept on both of the night bartenders and simply made them change their uniforms. Toris is now required to wear jeans that properly show off his assets.

When he arrives for his first shift under Ivan's iron fist, he is appraised by the Braginski crew and given a nod of satisfaction. Ivan made himself very at home in Hans' former office, and is currently doing some paperwork as two high school boys sit out front and study.  These are Ivan’s adopted sons, Eduard (the elder) and Raivis (the younger). Toris does not know if they are really brothers, or cousins, or something else entirely. He has no intentions of asking, either.

It's early yet; Ivan had wanted Toris to arrive before the place really opened and got busy. It is easier to set some ground rules that way, and more importantly, easier to observe him more closely. There are other matters to attend to as well: giving the place another once over, checking their stocks, making sure the back door has been upgraded with every lock he asked for as well as the ones he forgot to mention. The back room is a very…important place for guests. Which was why the first rule he gives Toris is: “No back room. No questions.”

Toris jumps. “Oh! Oh, ah, sorry. I just...I usually left my stuff back here.” After a moment of awkward shifting, he steps back and heads for the storeroom. “It's okay, I'll just...” Better to not leave his things here anyway. The less he sees this bastard, the better. Ivan’s already offed poor Hans; there's no telling what he'll do next. God, the thought gives him chills.

Ivan grins, his voice catching Toris just before he's out the door. “You may leave bags here. I have put in a shelf; it locks.” He jabs his thumb towards a small series of lockers along the wall behind him, and then takes a key out of his desk. Toris already knows it is not the only copy. “Is yours, for the one on the top left. It will be safe with me, da? No phones while working. You may talk on your break.”

Toris’ breath hitches. It is unfair, the way that smooth, silky voice so quickly and cleanly takes control of his mind. He isn’t sure what to make of it: whether it is wiser to resist while he has the chance or simply give in. All he knows is that he will never forget a word this man says.

“Okay.” He moves toward forward slowly, watching in slight horror as Ivan places the key in his open palm, forcing their skin to touch. He pulls away as quickly as possible. “Thank you.” Feliks won't be happy with the no-phone thing. But they'll deal, he guesses. They always do.

“If we are very busy, and I am thinking we will be now that _I_ am in charge, I will hire more help,” says Ivan, leaning forward in his chair. “For now, it will just be you and Bella. Be quick, efficient. I do not tolerate mistakes, and I am thinking you would like to keep this job, da? Especially since I will be paying you more.” Not as much as he could be, but Ivan prefers to start off slow. Toris, for the moment, is merely one of the pawns to cover his tracks. He can stand to lose plenty of pawns, although this one is particularly interesting.

Toris wonders how much of this talk is a threat. Probably all of it. But it doesn't matter, he needs this job. He'll work hard - harder than he's worked in ages. That's the only way to keep your job when management shifts, isn't it? “I understand.” He nods, not meeting Ivan’s eyes; he's afraid to. “Thank you.” He moves to the locker then, his brain swimming with the thought of a raise, a boom in the business, things he never thought he'd see. With Ivan, they may actually be possible.

At one of the tables out front, Ivan’s sons are doing their homework. Well, Eduard is. He has a lot tonight, but that doesn’t bother him. It keeps his mind busy, distracts him from...other things. Stretching, he takes a moment to watch the bartender. Toris? Yes. Ivan speaks of him often. There is no denying the man is handsome, a thought that makes Eduard blush and look away. He’s also learned from Ivan and others that there’s more to Toris. He has a strength that will bend and stretch, but be difficult to break. That is what Ivan likes; someone who will last a long time and play his games. Eddie _hates_ that he can see people that way now, in Ivan's terms. It's hard to hear his own mental voice. _Calculations. Numbers. Letters._ Those are him, those he is sure of. He goes back to work.

Raivis glances up from his phone. Eduard's nose is in a book. Good. Well, sad, but good. There was a time when he would wait with baited breath to distract him; a moment to steal his glasses or ruffle his hair, or even just to bring him some tea. But tonight is not about Eduard - it can't be. He's tired of being in love with a man who can't love him back. He has Kaoru now: the beautiful badass whom, against all odds, noticed him. Talked to him. Ultimately asked him out for a movie. Who could blame him for giving it up on the first date? Just looking at him made most boys his age open their legs. He was that strange mix of strength and almost edgy feminine beauty that no man should have. So why is he still staring at Eduard? With a sigh, Raivis throws on his jacket, the one Kaoru gave him, and tries to duck out of the bar as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, he runs smack into Natalia. “Watch where you're going you little runt!” she snarls, pushing him back inside. Gently. Ivan is never pleased when she roughs up his precious 'sons', and she lives and breathes to make her big brother happy. He smiles so beautifully when she coddles the brats that she is willing to play along. One day Ivan will get bored, and then they will disappear. She pats Raivis' head, her nails sliding through his hair in something that is more threat than caress. “Little boys should not wander on their own. Little boys could get _hurt_ if they are not careful.”

Raivis narrows his eyes, leaning away from her touch and slipping past her. He really hates that woman. It's like everything she _breathes_ is evil. “Little _girls_ should mind their own business.” He glares over his shoulder at her, then at Eduard, and finally slips out, heading toward La Citta. It’s the usual meeting place for Kaoru and him since it’s Luddy's territory, not Yao's or Ivan's.

Eduard knows Raivis is gone again without even looking up. Her knows where, too. Of _course_ he knows, it's all over school that Raivis is sleeping with Kaoru. Some of their classmates are jealous, some snicker, some just talk for the sake of talking. He hunches his back against it all. Eddie doesn't want to know that Raivis is with Kaoru, or what they do together. He _needs_ to, though, because he cannot let anything bad happen to Raivis. He swore it years ago, when they were just children and had no one else to turn to. Before Ivan, who is their savior, their guardian, their jailor, and their devil all at once.

He bites his lip, looking between the door and Ivan’s office. He'll just have to cover for Raivis. Again.

Natalia snorts, picking up her skirt as she sweeps into the bar. Let the brat get himself killed; she won't tattle. It's not her fault if someone puts a bullet between Raivis’ eyes for being with the wrong people. The little fool does not realize that being close to Ivan is dangerous, but being far from him is worse.

“Brother!” she calls, her face brightening as she heads for the office. She does a little turn, eyes sweeping over the revitalized bar. “Oh, it's lovely! So much better. You have such _taste_ , Ivan. The old place was as dead as that old man.”

Toris flinches at the words, nearly dropping a glass. But that's fine. It's the truth. He sets the glass in its proper place and starts wiping down the bar for the last time before it is to be covered with vodka and...more vodka. His eyes shoot to the quiet boy in the corner and he smiles a little, slightly worried for him. Apparently he and his - brother? whatever they are - were moved into the apartment upstairs. Eduard is almost out of high school. Soon he will be going to college, and that apartment should suit him just fine. It's bugged, of course. Everywhere. Even Toris can see the cameras.

Toris was not alone in flinching at the sound of Natalia. Her voice alone makes Ivan quiver. He was hoping she would not show up for at least another half an hour. Ah well. He really shouldn't be surprised when it comes to Natalia.

“Ah, thank you sister. You are very kind. Is Kat coming?” He cannot keep the eagerness out of his voice. His older sister tends to temper the younger, and he is honestly excited about the bar. He wants to impress, and Katyusha is easily moved. Her reactions make him stand a little taller; even if he knows they are overblown, Kat honestly means everything she says – well, most of the time. She _is_ a Braginski, after all. “She said she would take off from working at that cafe tonight.”

Natalia sighs. Why would he want Kat when his favorite sibling is clearly right here? Kat doesn't even work for Ivan anymore. She has that stupid hostessing job, trying to make her own way at some cafe in the "nice" part of town. Clearly Kat thinks she's too good for the rest of them. She crosses her arms. “ _I_ have come, because I know how much this means to you. I do not know about big sister. She is so _flighty_ , Ivan.”

Toris rolls his eyes, ducking under the bar and making sure everything is in stock. Natalia is now one of his least favorite people. She's bitter and mean, and she doesn't like anyone but her brother. He's made it his habit to stay out of her way. Behind him, the little electric kettle goes off, and he whips around to turn it off. Eduard had smiled at him when he offered him tea, and he took that as a yes.

Bella rushes into the bar, already late, and immediately begins helping Toris, running to the cellar for more daiquiri mix. She is _not_ going to get on Poison Ivan's bad side. She barely avoids Natalia, and ducks into the basement.

With a sigh, Toris carries the little cup of tea and a saucer loaded with cookies over to Eduard. He sets them down next to his books. “Working hard?”

Eduard looks up from the numbers with a bit of a start. Ivan taught him to be aware of his surroundings, to know when someone was aiming for him, but he had not expected Toris to speak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Ah, I suppose. It's not all that difficult.”

Toris smiles a little, reaching out and stealing a cookie from the plate. “You're smart. I found school...taxing.” The thought is slightly saddening, but it brings memories of Feliks and that makes things better. “My boyfriend got me through it, though. He's smarter than I am.”

At the mention of a boyfriend, Eduard can't help thinking of Raivis; or rather, Raivis with Kaoru. He's still trying to wrap his mind around how that even _happened_. Raivis was his shadow for so long, and now he’s gone off with some asshole. Eddie tries to shake off the bitter feeling. “Your boyfriend? How...uh, you met in school? Have you been together that long?”

Toris smiles a little wider, a little sadder. “Yeah. From then to now, and now to eternity.” He knows it's sappy, but he has the right to be sappy these days. Shaking his head, clearing it, he looks up and munches on the cookie. “Are you seeing somebody?”

Eduard nearly chokes on his cautious sip of tea. Him? Seeing somebody? Last year there was that brief fling with Emil. He isn’t sure what else to call it. There were a lot of sloppy kisses and touches, but neither of them ended up particularly satisfied. He always hated the look on Raivis' face when he was sneaking off to kiss Emil between classes or after school, anyway. Perhaps he looks much the same now.  “No.”

He swallows some tea, trying to get his head back on numbers and calculations. Unfortunately, it starts in on what he calls "Ivan's Math" - ratios that have to do with people's lives, the information that is useful and the information that is not, where to press and when. “What's your boyfriend like?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Though his lips are moving it is Ivan feeding him the words.

Toris raises his eyebrows at the abrupt answer, and the even more abrupt shift in attention. But he is immediately distracted by fresh thoughts of Feliks, which make him smile wider than ever. “He's sweet. Really different from any other person I've ever met. Determined. He drives me, pushes me, makes me get up in the morning and helps me through the day.” He breathes out a soft sigh, muttering almost unconsciously. “Don't know what I'll do without him.”

The last bit is so low Eduard almost misses it. He opens his mouth to ask, but the door opens and Katyusha comes bounding in, apologizing profusely her tardiness despite the fact that she was never given a time to arrive. He smiles. Aunt Kat is sweet; a bit too sweet for her own good. She has the same white-blonde hair as her siblings, cut short, and bright blue eyes. Her most noticeable features, however, are her breasts. He had the misfortune of going through puberty while living with them. It was...very awkward. Especially in the mornings.

“I am _SO SORRY!_ ” Kat exclaims, grabbing the first person she sees and hugging them in apology. “SO SORRY! Oh-!”

The wind is knocked out of Toris, and he is nearly thrown into a chair by the most gigantic breasts he's ever had the awkward pleasure of feeling without asking. The woman hugs him again. “OH! I am SO SORRY! I am glad you were here to set things up! I must see Ivan. IVAN!” She runs toward the back room, utterly despondent.

“Um.” Toris coughs, blushing hard. “That one is Katyusha, right?”

Eduard can't help smirking. “Yes. You'll get used to that.”

Toris laughs a little, stealing another cookie just for that smirk. “You think so? Because I feel kind of weird about that.”

Bypassing Natalia completely, Kat throws her arms around her brother and sobs. “I swore I would be here, but I was caught at the restaurant! I am _SO SORRY_ for being late, little brother! YOU MUST KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU AND THAT THIS IS BEAUTIFUL! I AM SO SORRY FOR NEARLY MISSING IT! WHAT MUST YOU THINK OF YOUR POOR SISTER?!”

Years of this have prepared Ivan to catch her so that they do not both fall backward and he is not smothered. He waits for her to finish her rushed monologue and pats her back, catching even Natalia smile a little over her shoulder. “Kat, is alright! I am glad you are here at all. You are lovely, as always.” He kisses her forehead, then draws Natalia in and kisses her head as well. His sisters are crazy. _Completely_ insane. But he loves them all the same. “I am so happy to share with my family! TORIS! BELLA! Get drinks. We will toast success!”

Toris takes the tray of straight up vodkas and slowly brings it into the office, one glass with a splash of cranberry for Katyusha (though how Bella knows what she likes, he has no idea). Eduard follows him, and then the whole family is there; the whole, strange family, except for Raivis. Raising an eyebrow, he sets the tray on the desk and fades to the back, hoping no one will notice him in this weird little mess.

Ivan releases his sisters, striding around to the front of the desk. His eyes light on Eduard, and he frowns. There is only one boy where there should be two. “Where is Raivis?”

Somehow, Eduard manages not to choke or look away. You have to be _very_ careful about lying to Ivan. “He and a few of the other boys in his class are going to visit Nick and NC Karpusi. They're trying to cheer them up, or at least spend some time with them, since they just lost their older brother.”

It's not entirely false, either. They _had_ gone to visit the remaining Karpusi brothers, but earlier. It was so strange to see a house that was usually wild so quiet. It used to be full of boys yelling and playing, roughhousing with the oldest, Heracles, and avoiding numerous cats underfoot. Now it was just empty. Mrs. Karpusi had smiled at them, chatted quietly about how nice it was for them to come by, and sent them outside. But they didn't do anything. Just sat around and kicked at the dirt.

Katyusha knows he's lying. She can tell when it comes to men. Slowly, she slides into a chair by the desk, somewhat blocking Ivan's view of the boy with her breasts. Whatever the reason for his lies, he is defending Raivis and she will keep this family whole, no matter what it takes. “Oh! That is so nice! I shall make blintzes and drop them off. Tell Raivis I will pick him up. Just text me the address.” She meets Eduard's eyes. “For the GPS.”

Sometimes Eduard swears that Kat keeps a lie detector in her cleavage. He shudders to think what he would do if she should ever use that power against him. He nods, smiles, and accepts a glass of vodka. Ivan has had them drinking since they were thirteen. _"Last one standing wins the game,"_ he would tell them. It seems true enough; he's seen Ivan come out of a night drinking with some of the greatest deals he ever made. Eduard is fairly certain that at one point the man even got his hands on restricted, experimental military technology. He doesn't want to know what happened to it.

“Ah! Well then.” Ivan raises his glass. “First we drink for the dearly departed. Отдых в мире; rest in peace.” He looks directly at Toris and Bella as he speaks. It is important to know whose side they are on. He does not care if they harbor animosity towards him, as long as they show no signs of doing anything about it.

Toris presses his lips together, slightly pissed, but unwilling to show it. He doesn't want to deal with this tension in the air. There's something really, really wrong about the way Ivan's looking at him now. “We're... We should be open,” he says softly, moving out the door _very_ fast to open up. They need somebody at the bar. It's a good excuse to get out of there.

Kat waits until he leaves to look toward Natalia pointedly. “Sister. Do you suppose Ivan would like some sweet rolls with his vodka?” She jerks her head. “I believe Bella said there were some in the pantry.”

“Oh! Yes. Ivan likes sweet rolls very much, don't you Ivan?” She rushes off to retrieve them. Everything must be perfect; this is their first night. If things go well, they will own this town.

Katyusha finally turns to Ivan, ignoring Eduard, who _must_ already know what's going on, and glaring at her brother. “ _What_ are you doing to that poor boy?”

Ivan shrugs, showing the whites of his teeth. “Testing his mettle. Hers too.” He nods after Bella, who has gone to help Toris with her fists clenched. “They do not love me. They will. Don't you love me?” He looks to Kat and Eduard, almost desperately. “I am good to what is mine, aren’t I?”

Kat’s breath comes in a slow, heavy heave. She lets it out slowly, narrowing her eyes. “Of course I love you, brother. But that boy...” She looks back toward the bar, frowning at his shadow, her voice dropping a little lower. “That boy is a good boy. Is sweet. You will hurt him and lose your toy.”

Ivan’s smile turns sinister. Even from his sisters, he only tolerates so much. “Love is pain. Love means never leave. I will make them love me, _need_ me. No one leaves Ivan Braginski. NO ONE.” Not ever again. He grew tired of losing long ago, so now he simply takes.

Eduard drinks for the dead, drinks for Raivis, for himself, for them all. It is foolish to think there is a way out. Foolish to even dream it. He goes back to his numbers, trying to recall all of the chemical formulas that were on the final last year.


	4. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The murders of Gilbert and Heracles have left Francis and Kiku shattered. While Kiku wastes away and Francis resorts to drugs, Alfred and Mattie begin their work as undercover officers. But there are less savory figures lurking in the underbelly of this city, eager to take brutal advantage of the vulnerable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! We are starting off this chapter with a  
>  **WARNING:** This chapter contains (non-explicit) rape and mentions of drug use. If you want to avoid the rape scene but still read the rest of the chapter, when Alfred mentions burgers skip to the final section.
> 
> Please excuse our Google Translated French; neither of us have studied the language. As always, thanks for reading and we'd love to hear from you!

It is around two in the morning, and Kiku is not asleep. He is not doing other things in bed either. No, he has been taking time off from that particular practice for the last month, since... His mind can't even go there. Every time he thinks about it, he simply breaks down and cries. It isn't fair. It isn't _FAIR_. The one good thing he's ever had in his life, and it's lost.

Even now as he sits in the Rainbow's communal kitchen, staring at his stupid sandwich, he can't breathe. He's choking back sobs, gripping the table. Since that night- the night after he lost his sunlight, his joy - he has been like a ghost. Unliving life. A whore, but no longer giving of his flesh. He has become a glorified maid. Eliza gives him a little money to clean and cook, sometimes telling him that it's okay, other times asking him if he thinks he'll ever be alright again. He doesn't. Sometimes he lies and tells her he does, hoping she'll let him stay a little while longer. Sometimes he packs a bag, thinks about where he'll go, and unpacks it again.

Francis half-stumbles into the kitchen, eyes bright and robe hanging most of the way off his body. He doesn't care. Doesn't care that he smells like sex and smoke, doesn't care about much of anything. He's hungry. He's fucking _flying_ , and he's really, really hungry. He bumps hard into the counter on his way and laughs, not feeling it. Holly wasn't kidding when he swore he'd be feeling no pain. He can't remember what this one's called, just something about an opioid - his candy of choice.

" _Fuck_!" Kiku hisses through his teeth at the sight of Francis. And here Kiku was thinking _he_ must look bad. This man looks like he hasn't bathed in a week. He smells like smoke, sweet and pungent like a fucking gonghead would. And he's laughing. High as a kite in a tornado. "Kami _Sama_ , Francis!"

He whips around at the sound of his name, smiling wide at the sight of his friend. "Mon cheri!" Francis pulls Kiku up from the chair and into a tight embrace. Kiku smells like flowers and rain and sadness. Lovely, except for that last part. Certainly better than most of the customers he's been seeing. He holds onto him, in part because if he lets go he's a little afraid he'll fall off the edge of the world. Then again, that might be fun! He lets go, throwing out his arms. It's very disappointing when nothing happens.

Francis frowns, looking Kiku over. His eyes are red and bloodshot, with dark bags underneath them. He's thinner than usual under that exotic, silky robe. Francis should be worried. Why isn't he worried? "Kiku, you look like shit!" he laughs.

Kiku takes the compliment in stride, seeing it for what it is - a little nicer than the truth. "You're stoned out of your mind, and you smell like someone rolled you in a joint and lit you." He pushes him away a little, only to catch him when he comes stumbling back and slowly lower Francis into the chair he was just sitting in. God, what a mess. Francis is really not taking this well. He should be nicer, but he feels like all the nice has been wrung out of him. "Close your robe, so I don't have to look at your… assets."

Francis's grin turns lecherous. "Maybe you should take your clothes off, so I can see all of _yours_." Long fingers reach out, catching on the edge of Kiku's robe as they have a hundred times before, brushing over his collar. He doesn't feel sore at all from his last round. He just wants more; something to fill up the void, something to stop the pain that there is not enough opium in the world to take away.

The touch sends hot and cold through Kiku at the same time, and such tremors that he can't breathe through them. Impulsively, he slaps that hand away _hard_ , throwing it off and stepping back. " _No_." He says, looking down at Francis with something akin to empathy. It's funny. He understands. More than he would like to. If he was anything like Francis, he would be doing the same thing, wouldn't he? Kiku breathes out slowly, suddenly calmer, less angry. He lets himself reach out and touch Francis' cheek, holding his eyes for a long, heavy second. "No. It won't help me. Or you."

Francis falls back when he's smacked away, and stares up at his friend, astonished. Kiku has denied him before, of course, but never like that. His eyes are so cold, even when he is running a thumb over his cheek, catching on the roughness of his thin beard. For a moment he's sinking back to earth. Those eyes force him to recall that Kiku's lover is dead, and so is his. One of his lovers, anyway - one he loved far more than he should have. What a strange thing this is. The world's gone upside down. He cocks his head, and can't help giggling. "You should try standing on your head."

Kiku swallows, letting his hand fall to his side and watching Francis giggle like mad. His lips press together. "The world's not right as it is. I don't need to see it upside down." He turns away, picking up the sandwich he's just created and setting it in front of his dear, high-flying friend. "You need to eat. That shit will kill you if you don't come down, Francis. And you know this place can't survive without you."

Hungry! He'd nearly forgotten until the sandwich was placed in front of him. Leave it to Kiku; the man is magic. In a matter of minutes, the sandwich is gone. Francis wipes his mouth, looking back at Kiku and recalling that he's too skinny. He should feel guilty now for eating his snack. He still doesn't feel much of anything. "Nor you, cheri." He doesn't know if he could survive losing Kiku as well.

Kiku smiles a little, taking the plate away. It's for the best. He wasn't going to eat it anyway. He never feels hunger anymore; he only knows that he should eat. He hands Francis a glass of water and waits for him to swallow it all. "You could carry this place. You know that." _'Everyone knows that,'_ his mind sighs, and he takes the glass back, filling it again. "When you're not dancing on cloud club drug."

Francis frowns, confused and unable to grasp the metaphor. Kiku doesn't like the club because his brother runs it, but Francis and their coworkers always do well there. "That is how to bring in new clients. But your brother...I suppose that makes sense." He stands, pacing because he can't sit still, he has to do something. Someone. He feels like playing with fire, playing rough. Gilbert liked it rough. He wants him back.

For a moment Kiku watches him, shaking his head. Then his body physically _jerks_ as he sees the man sway and almost fall to the floor, eyes unfocused, barely seeing anything. Oh, _fuck_. "Frannie—" He calls, moving to catch his arm. "Frannie, are you–?!" He looks like he's about to pass out; he's just so fucking high he's not feeling it right now. "Put some shoes on. We have to see Bernie."

Francis turns his arm so that he has a hold of Kiku instead, and twirls him around. "Yes, yes! Let's put shoes on and go dancing. Or forget the shoes. We don't need them, we can go naked and everyone will be jealous!" They dance, spinning until Francis is not sure if it is them turning or the room.

They're so close, and Kiku feels like he's getting dizzy. No. They... _No_. They need to _stop_. He pushes Francis away, throwing him against the counter. When they've finally caught their breath, he pulls that robe closed and ties it shut. "Come with me to see Bernie," he says, tugging the robe up a little. "If he says we can go dancing, I'll go dancing with you."

Francis frowns. Kiku doesn't mean it. Not with those sunken cheeks; his hands are cold wherever they brush his skin. Kiku doesn't want to go anywhere - or rather, he wants to go nowhere. There's a difference, but he could not possibly explain it now. He wants to be worried, but he _can't_ be. He can't...his breath hitches a little, that hole pulsing with its jagged edges. Jagged, bloody edges, like brains spilled across concrete and glass, like bodies lying on the ground, little broken puppets with cut strings. He'd seen everything and nothing. Come too late; heard a commotion, had to see...should never have looked. He would rather see a thousand fresh horrors than remember. He dances away from Kiku. "Non! I don't need to see the good doctor. I feel wonderful! Let's go, Kiku. Let's go work. Let's play."

With a sigh, Kiku takes him by the arm and drags him toward the door. They need to do _something_. The man probably won't wake up without medical attention. "No, Francis. We are _going_. I don't care if you feel wonderful, _I_ don't feel wonderful." He doesn't. But there's nothing Bernie can do to help him. He just needs to get Francis there and be done with it.

"STOP IT!" Francis yanks his arm from Kiku's grip, suddenly angry. Or something like angry. "Stop it! You're so sad, it's like there's nothing left to live for. But there's always something! You just have to find it, keep going until you feel alive and it doesn't _hurt_ anymore. Because it doesn't hurt, Kiku! It doesn't; you should try it sometime. Nothing hurts. But if you insist on wasting away for some lover when there are a million others just like him, you stay here and do it!"

The words catch Kiku like someone's choking him, slicing his throat to keep him from speaking. He stares wide-eyed at Francis, knowing he's just angry, knowing this has nothing to do with him and everything to do with Gilbert. But listening to him still hurts badly. He steps back, tells himself to stop caring, and turns away in complete silence. He's not sure if he'll be okay with Francis – with anyone – tomorrow. Maybe he should pack a bag. Maybe he should go somewhere else.

Eliza stalks down the hall, determined to bring an end to this. Her hotel is full of thugs; not the usual ones, either. These are the men with mean eyes and harsh hands, men who _enjoy_ hurting. Ever since Frannie started bringing them back last week, they've been pawing at her and the others, smacking her ass as she passes or drawing her against them with hard, thick fingers, squeezing her breasts until she elbows them in the groin. She's had enough of this. She loves Francis dearly, but long ago they agreed on rules: any john or jane who wants to force something is banned for life.

There's noise from the kitchen, and at first she thinks it's one of those fuckers giving poor Kiku a hard time. But it's _Francis_ stumbling away, laughing at nothing and looking for trouble. That's it. Kiku has his issues, but at least he's not hurting anyone else. She grabs Francis by the shoulders and shoves him against the wall, shaking him. "Enough, Francis! I've had enough! If you want to pull shit like this, do it somewhere else!" She throws him toward the door. "Go fuck Toni. Go fuck your cop. Go fuck yourself for all I care, but don't you dare bring any more of those bastards here. Gupta had to break one john's _nose_ to get him off."

Kiku whips around as Francis is thrown practically out the door by their livid-looking Madam. "Liza-!" He pushes past her, reaching for the poor, wasted bastard and hauling him up. "He needs to see the Doctor! Please, just..."

It's so funny to Francis, seeing them all riled up and tense! They're whores, they've all been through some kind of hell to get here. Yet _this_ is what breaks them down? Him bringing back a couple boys who like to throw punches? They've had rough fucks before, and as long as there's money up front they've hardly cared. These days even a murder is only important if you cared about the ones involved. He flips Liza off. "Fuck _your_ self, Eliza. You're no fun."

He stands, pushing Kiku away. He doesn't like the cold hands, and he _hates_ the pity in his eyes when Kiku is the one who lost the most. "You too, Kiku. I'm getting out of here." He pushes himself to his feet, grabbing the pants he'd left by the door...last night? Last week? It was convenient now.

XXX

Newly-promoted Officer Matthew Williams looks around the place that is to be their hide-out for this assignment. It used to be a series of apartments by the looks of it. The lobby of the first floor is open, with a common area, rusted laundry facilities, and a main office. From there it closes off into tight hallways and creaky staircases.

Upstairs he and his partner, Alfred, find rooms with dirty, moth-eaten furniture. There are more than moths living here, too: rats the size of his hand, roaches that he swears are even bigger, probably bats in the higher floors. It's not a pleasant place to be. Even the dealers don't like it, apparently. The ones they talked to at the club said it was haunted by the ghost of Old Roma. But they were also tripping out, so it was hard to go by anything they said. Mattie shivers. "This place _is_ kind of creepy."

Alfred grins. Cobwebs? Check. Creaky floors? Check. General aura of doom? Triple-check _that_ bad boy. This is perfect. "Dude, I _love_ it!" He claps his hands together, twirling around so that he misses falling through a disintegrating floorboard by sheer luck. " _Nobody_ wants to come here! It's like the perfect secret hide-out Bat Cave!"

It's just too awesome not to explore. He sticks his head into what was once a bathroom, but is now missing all the copper pipes. "C'mon, Mattie, it's like – like – remember? Like our first duplex! Remember how fucked up your floor was? I mean, we found a litter of kittens _living_ in your wall. And mine didn't even have a kitchen!"

Matthew almost laughs. The lack of a kitchen was a great travesty in Alfred's opinion, but not so much in his. Not that Al was too terrible a cook, it was just that it ended up a wasted space for his friend. Alfred barely ate anything but fast food, so what was the point of a kitchen? They both have apartments at a nicer place now; he can already tell he's going to miss it on the nights he has to spend here. "Kittens are cute and adoptable. Please tell me you do not intend to keep a cockroach as a pet."

"Hah! Bugs need love too." Alfred sticks his tongue out, slipping past him and letting their bodies brush in that easy, familiar way he's worked hard not to notice. "Where's Artie, d'you know? He's supposed to be here by now."

That's a _very_ good question, and Mattie doesn't like the answer his mind supplies. He's seen the signs. Artie's eyes are always bloodshot, his hands shake if he hasn't disappeared in a while, his speech is strange...the man is an addict if he ever saw one, and he's seen plenty. He shrugs all the same. Arthur is their superior, and he always follows the chain of command. "He told us to meet him here, and wait. He probably has some business to attend to."

Alfred smiles, linking arms with Mattie and leading him downstairs. He's right. Artie is their boss, and he's probably doing something important. They just need to sit tight. "Yeah, you're right. C'mon, I brought some burgers. They're in my backpack. They're prob'ly cold by now. Can you live with that, snob?"

The thought is cringe worthy to Matthew. It's unfortunate that he's hungry. At least he brought some maple syrup with him. If he can wipe off the gobs of ketchup Alfred squirts on his burgers, he might just live with it. "Fine."

Alfred crouches on the floor, going through his backpack for the burgers. Suddenly they hear a loud, very angry sounding _"NO!"_ It's followed by the sharp crack of skin-on-skin and an even louder yelp. Immediately Alfred's head jolts up. He drops his bag, straightening. "What the hell?" The sounds are coming from a far-off area of the house, somewhere toward the back.

Mattie's hand is already on his gun. He knew they should have done a better job of clearing this place, but it's like a labyrinth once you pass beyond the lobby. There are all sorts of little hallways with nooks and long rows of doors, some of which don't go anywhere at all. It's like it was built to confuse, built so that bodies wouldn't be found for days and sound would be muffled. That is a disturbing thought. "We should wait for Artie."

Before the word "wait" is even on Mattie's lips, Alfred's taken off in the direction of the noise, his gun drawn, his legs moving faster than any crook could ever be. Why the hell would they wait? Somebody's in trouble! They're the heroes!

"Shit. Alfred!" Mattie glances back at the lobby once more before following.

Alfred throws himself into what clearly used to be the kitchen. To his horror, he finds a massive, bull of a man forcing himself on a blonde, holding him to the counter and—"HEY!" He yells, pointing his gun at the sonovabitch, vowing to blow his head off if he doesn't let go right this second. "HEY! Get your fucking hands OFF him!"

The bastard makes a break for it, which is fine by Alfred at this point. There will be DNA. There will be fingerprints, bruises. Maybe even a name. They'll get him. But first, they need to take care of the lovely, broken thing trying to gather himself against the counter. "Shit. Mattie, call somebody!" He runs forward, trying to help as gingerly as possible. "It's okay, man. I promise, I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? Can you stand? Are you okay to walk?" He reaches out, not touching but ready to steady him if the man starts falling.

Francis blinks stupidly at the counter for a minute, spitting blood he's pretty sure does not belong to him. He can't quite comprehend what's happened. There was pain, a stench as heavy as the pressure on his back, and big hands that were going to wrap around his throat, squeeze until his head came off. But the weight is gone, and now he smells something new. Burgers? He looks up. Blinks again. There's an angel in front of him. A blonde angel with the bluest eyes he's ever seen, and a face so open, so _honest_ , that he isn't afraid at all. "Ange..." [1]

Matthew peers at the victim, trying to decide if it's worth calling Arthur when he strictly told them to maintain radio silence. The victim is in bad shape, and apparently incoherent. He pulls off his coat and holds it out; the clothes on the floor are torn, marked with dirt and a bit of blood. "Here, put this on. We...how can we help? Can we take you to a doctor?"

' _Two angels,'_ thinks Francis. They're nearly identical, too, except that the second one looks even sweeter than the first. A cherub. It takes him a long, slow minute to understand that the jacket is for him. He tries to take it, confused when the fingers of his left hand refuse to hold it. He succeeds with the right and pulls it over his shoulders. It's long, falling nearly to his knees even though he is taller than the angel. "Merci."

There's Mattie, offering his jacket to the guy like a true gentleman. But seeing it over the man's shoulders makes Alfred's heart flip-flop a little. What's _wrong_ with him? The man was just being _raped_ for fuck's sake! He clears his throat, trying not to blush at the word, the accent. French. Fuck. He _had_ to be French to be that pretty, didn't he? He ignores it, reaching out and taking that hand in his, staring down at the bruised flesh. "We have to take you to a hospital. Do you understand, man? Your fingers are broken. Um..." He wracks his brain for any language he can think of. "Um... Los dedos es rompen." [2]

Matthew can't help rolling his eyes, just barely resisting the urge to thump Al on the back of the head. "That's Spanish, Alfred! And it's not his fingers." He looks a little closer; the victim's hands are covered in defensive wounds, but the fingers are moving a little. It's the wrist that's at a strange angle. He never thought he would be glad his papa made him take French for so long in the hopes of taking him to visit his grandmother in Quebec. "Votre poignet est cassé. S'il vous plaît laissez-nous vous emmener à l'hôpital." [3]

The angels speak French? And...Spanish? Of course, they're angels. They can speak any language, can't they? It's beautiful on their lips. The words feel like a kiss, and Francis lingers on them until he catches the word hospital. "NON! No. No hospitals, I'm fine." He pulls back from them, holding onto the counter because he's shaking - or maybe that's just the room. Hard to tell.

Alfred blinks. And blinks again. Well, this just got a little more complicated. He looks to Mattie, then back to the clearly frightened man. "You're high, aren't you?" He asks softly but bluntly, because he has no idea why else he _wouldn't_ want to see a doctor at this point. He looks to Mattie again, then back to the guy. "We still need to get you to a doctor, man. You're pretty roughed up. That guy did a number on you."

There is a very long list of reasons Francis does not like hospitals. Money and insurance issues make up most of them. Having to report this, plus the drugs, would just make it worse. Besides, he really does feel fine. Somewhere the logical part of him is screaming that he is not, and asking for a ride to Bernie's would be wise. But logic is not what is controlling him right now. He shakes his head. "No. I just...I want to go home." The minute he says it he realizes it is the absolute truth. He wants to go to his bed and curl up with Kiku, or Toni, even Artie or...Gilbert.

Mattie sighs. At least the man speaks English; he did not want to have to play translator all evening. It's very clear the man needs a doctor, but he is under no illusions that forcing him will help. God, he _hates_ his job sometimes, hates this place that crushes men and women until they are afraid to even speak. Because they're undercover, he and Alfred can't even help him report it right now. But maybe they can get the information, send it to the chief. "What's your name?"

A strangled sort of giggle bursts from Francis' lips before he can stop it. "You _must_ be new." Everyone on this side of the town knows his name. For a good time, you call Francis. It's a shame the first chance he's had to really introduce himself in a while is when he's looking like this. "Francis."

"Francis," Alfred repeats softly, because the name sounds a little familiar. But he doesn't care. He offers Francis his hand. "We are new. But we're gentlemen. And we're not going anywhere until we know you're where you want to be. Fair?"

Francis' angels are kind and sweet, and suddenly he's quite sure they have been sent his way because someone needs to save _them_. With those cherub faces and kind, trusting words to complete strangers, this place is going to eat them alive. He takes the hand. "Merci, mes anges. What may I call you?"

Francis...why is that triggering something? Mattie knows it, he just can't place it, and the look on Al's face says he feels the same. Actually, the look on Al's face says a lot more. Mattie is trying very hard not to look too often at Francis, because even beaten, he's beautiful. He blushes and meets his eyes instead. They're deep blue, and over-bright so that they shine like the stars. He knows that's the drugs. It's hard to care. "Matthew. Mattie."

Alfred grins stupidly, feeling quite sure that he's been hit with cupid's sledgehammer. Whoever he is, Francis is definitely something. Something he's never seen before. "Alfred. Most people call me Alfie. Or Alf. You know, which ever. Doesn't matter. It's a name, right?" He's babbling. He really needs to shut up. He doesn't care too much, though. This man is too lovely to care about anything else.

XXX

The car that rolls up to the Rainbow is a modest one, so Kiku is a little surprised to see Francis stumble out in the arms of two gorgeous young men. But that isn't really important. The important thing is getting him to a doctor. Luckily, he called Antonio about an hour ago, and the man showed up with his car and his sternest face. They are going to get Francis to the clinic if it takes knocking him out with a dinner plate. Which it might.

Kiku pushes off the stoop as Toni moves to catch the teetering whore, glaring daggers at the two young men. Toni's glare holds twice the threat. The two men are clearly as besotted as he is - and who wouldn't be? - but they are still customers. Customers that _did not take care_. He's going to... "Hope you assholes paid him well for the damage. Now get the _fuck_ outta here," Toni growls.

The drugs have started wearing off for Francis. It makes sense. He can see a crack of light out beyond the casino's flashing signs that is not electric, telling him dawn has arrived. But _fuck_ , now he knows why they kept trying to convince him to go to the hospital. Alfred helps him out of the car and he is immediately pulled into a different set of arms. It smells like spice. Francis glances up, trying to smile at his dear Antonio. The man looks _furious_. That's never good. Toni has a violent temper when it comes to things he cares about, and it's only gotten worse since Gilbert died. He tugs on his sleeve, then reaches up to caress his face. "Non, non. It wasn't them. They're mes anges, they saved me." He smiles back at his angels, trying to memorize their faces. He _will_ find them again.

' _Oh Man.'_ Alfred nearly groans _._ With the look that dude is giving them, they better get out of there, fast. Well, at least now they know how Francis makes a living. No wonder he's so damned pretty. "Um – He's a little out of it, we think. So. He wanted to go home. Um..." He scratches a hand through his hair, looking to Mattie. "We'd better get going."

Mattie's still got the driver's door open, keys in hand. He wants to make sure Francis will be alright, especially now that he understands who the man is. Francis _Bonnefoy_ , the prostitute who was apparently Gilbert Beilschmidt's favorite lover. He was on the list of those brought in for questioning – among those without much of an alibi, but without much evidence against them, either. Mattie wonders if the people here are his real friends, or just using him, selling him. His fists clench a little. The Spaniard looks like he wants to strangle something. "We wanted to make sure he was _safe_."

Kiku thanks God for the rare kindness of strangers. He moves to Toni, taking Francis from his frighteningly steely grip. He holds Francis close, patting his back as he notes the look in his eyes. He's coming down. Thank God. "He's safe here. _Thank_ you." He says it with sincere fervor. "We will take him... somewhere."

The smaller man seems truly grateful to Matthew. He looks a little sick himself, though: pale and much too thin. Maybe that is simply the nature of this world. Mattie looks up at the Rainbow, taking in its flashy façade and rich looking balconies, each a different color. They'll be back later, he's sure of that much. They have questions to ask, as subtly as they can. He exchanges a look with Alfred. "Alright. We'll...we'll be around." He catches Francis' eyes. They're even prettier now that the blue is clearing. "S'il vous plaît prendre soin de vous." [4]

Francis smiles to hear the French. Oh, he simply _must_ find his angels again. "Oui. Both of you, too."

Alfred smiles wide, grinning at the man who is giving them a smile that... Well, it's probably fake. But he can't wait to see it again. "C'mon." He takes Mattie's hand, pulling him back to the car.

Toni continues to glare hard at the retreating figures. Alright. Fine. He can probably forgive them for those looks. Anyone his Francis can call "angels" certainly deserves a little forgiveness. But when he finds out who he needed saving from... "Alright, Fran. Let's get you patched up." He heads for his own car, trusting Kiku to bring Francis along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - angel (French)
> 
> 2 - The fingers is broken. ["…se rompen" is the correct grammar, but Alfred's Spanish isn't very good :D.] (Spanish)
> 
> 3 - Your wrist is broken. Please let us take you to the hospital. (French)
> 
> 4 - Please take care of yourself. (French)


	5. The Good Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiku and Toni take a badly injured Francis to the clinic, run by the agoraphobic ex-doctor Berwald and nurse Tino.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings lovely readers! We get to meet some new characters in this chapter; any Sweden and/or Finland fans should be pleased! We hope you enjoy, and please review!

The night was not an easy one for Berwald. Usually nights are loud, busy, full of things to keep him occupied so that his mind cannot wander to the things he's lost. But this night was dead. Very dead. The only thing keeping him from restless slumber was his dear friend Tino; it seems like he’s always there when Bernie needs something to distract him.

Tino is organizing all the supplies he's swiped from Mercy Hospital, humming to himself. It’s some tune he'd heard on the radio, something he can't remember the words to. Beyond him, Bernie can see the pale light of dawn floating in through the window. He should get Tino to sleep; he's sure the nurse has a shift in a few hours. It's not good for him to be tired. He watches for another minute before standing, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Y'should go t'bed.”

Tino jolts out of his reverie and turns to face the man who embodies everything he shouldn't - just _shouldn't_  - be thinking of. Straightening a little, he presses his knuckles into his hips and smiles. “Speak for yourself, Doc.” He meets Bernie’s eyes, challenging. Tino may still call him Doctor, but when it comes to Bernie’s own damn health, the nurse knows best.

Berwald remains unmoved, though he can't help enjoying Tino's smile. It's brighter than the sunshine. “I don't have a shift. I can sleep whenever I need to.” In fact, he prefers to wait until sleep is absolutely necessary. That is when he's tired enough to simply fall into the depths of inky black, beyond dreams and more importantly, beyond memories. He has never slept well. Not since he started sleeping alone. Even after all these years the bed is too cold, and the house is too quiet. When there are no patients, Tino, at least, fills the silence. Sometimes he thinks the nurse could fill more than that, but he bans such thoughts from his mind. He just can't handle a thing like that. Not ever again.

The look in his eyes becomes something soft, worried. Tino doesn't want to worry him. He lies, crossing his arms over his chest in defense. “I don't have a shift tomorrow. Stop worrying about me, Bernie. You should know med school is nothing but training in sleep deprivation.”

Tino is a cute little thing; blonde and hazel-eyed, with that easy smile that makes Berwald’s heart lighter. But he's not a very good liar. Bernie opens his mouth to say as much when bright lights flash through the window. That's not the sun. He hears gravel crunch as someone turns into the parking lot behind his little clinic. The sign out front declares his house to be a center for charitable donations, but even the cops know him as the Good Doctor – the one who treats all the unfortunate souls around here who can’t or don’t want to go to the hospital, regardless of their reasons. He starts for the door before the motor cuts. Someone's hurt. He never knows how quickly he needs to move, so he always assumes the worst.

Tino snaps out of the daze Bernie has put him in and looks up, trying not to feel like he just missed something incredible. Something he's been waiting for. But he hears the car pull up and his RN training immediately takes over. He grabs the gurney they have stowed by the door and rolls it outside in time to see Kiku, the loveliest whore alive, holding up Francis, the loveliest whore half-dead, and helping him out of Toni's car. “What's the damage?” he calls out, trying to be quiet about it.

Francis manages a grin as he leans on Kiku, watching the world tilt. “Kiku isn't eating. Toni is about to have a stroke. I'm just fine. Can't you tell?” The ride over was quiet, but whenever he looked in the rearview mirror for a glimpse of Toni's face the man was scowling as though he meant to run down the next person to cross his path. There would be trouble later. Francis had snuggled further into his coat, only realizing that it wasn't his about halfway through the ride. It smelled sweet, and it was soft. His angel's coat. Matthew. It’s nice to have something pleasant to think about, even as he stumbles and nearly takes Kiku down with him.

“ _Shit_ ,” Tino mutters.  Francis is high as fuck and looks like he's been through a bar fight. Tino leaves the stretcher by the door and runs for them, taking Francis out of Kiku's arms and trying to get a gauge of his face as he flails. Jesus. Francis has bruises all across his skin, and he looks like somebody took a piece out of him in the worst place.

“We need-” A rape kit? What the fuck are they going to do with a rape kit? They need blood samples and hair samples and samples of what was done, but they can't have any of that because this is a place for not telling. “We need fluids!” Tino calls to Berwald, who stands just inside the door.

Bernie’s face doesn't change. He's seen worse; _much_ worse. He deals with every whore, addict, dealer, thug, and lost soul in this forsaken part of the city. When they come here, they are all the same: patients. His eyes sweep over this newest group, trying to decide what needs to be done. Francis is the most obviously damaged, but Kiku seems ill and Antonio really does look like his brain is going to implode soon.

Tino helps Francis limp inside, and Bernie takes a moment to look after the other two. He nods at Antonio and points to the open safe by the door. No one is allowed to carry a weapon in his clinic. There is no fighting, no arguing, no selling or buying, and he knows Toni, at the very least, has a gun.

Toni looks at the safe and curses, pulling out his gun and shoving it in. His other gun goes with it, as well as the knife he keeps in his boot. Kiku bypasses the safe completely; he carries nothing. Francis is already down the hall, being taken care of by Nurse Tino. Toni scowls hard at Bernie, speaking low and with resolve. “I wanna know who did this.”

Wouldn't they all. Bernie wishes he could weed out every rapist and murderer in the city, but he is fairly certain there wouldn't be many people left in the end. A depressing thought, no matter how one looks at it. Besides, that is not what he does. His policy on confidentiality is strict.

“Ask Francis, then. If he feels like telling y’.” The doctor strides away, gesturing to the couches in his large, open living/dining room. “Sit. There's apples on the table, and juice if y'want it.” He stares hard at Kiku. “Eat an apple.”

Kiku blinks, sitting down slowly and observing at the apples on the table. They look like large, red globs of sand to him now, or just as appetizing. He doesn't move from his place. He simply crosses one leg over the other and cocks his head at the bowl of them, as though he is choosing the appropriate one, and hopes the doctor will move on in a moment to take care of the real problem.

Kiku's not going to eat. Well. Bernie will deal with that in a moment. He goes to the bathroom. It's cleaned twice daily, until the smell of antiseptic is so strong he nearly chokes when he enters. But it's important; he doesn't have another place to wash up. Rinse. Soap. Rub hands together vigorously for fifteen seconds, getting under the nails. Rinse. Snap on apron, gloves. Now he looks like a real doctor again.

Meanwhile, Francis is crashing from his high, holding that jacket so tight around his body that Tino fears they'll never get it off him. But if that's what makes him a little more comfortable, that's okay. He assesses the bruises, mapping them out on the paper diagram of face, neck, and shoulders Bernie keeps on hand. Next he will map the torso and back, then the arms and hands. Then the... offended area. Then the legs. Then the feet. He will do this as he works, assessing everything.

“Can you tell me anything about the attack? Anything you'd like us to spread amongst the other houses?” God forbid he even say the word 'police'. But Tino knows Francis won't want any other whore getting hurt. Not if he can help it. Francis treats those of his profession better than royalty, and would protect them before all else.

Francis is cold, and his head is spinning, and _everything_ hurts. Damnit. He should have known; the crashes have not been fun this past week. He just keeps swallowing more pills and forgetting. He shuts his eyes, trying to relax and remember. The events are foggy. He remembers something with Kiku, something that made Kiku sad. He remembers leaving, and then _..."Gonna make you scream, pretty little thing.”_ He shivers hard.

“A john. I found him somewhere, or he followed me. I don't know. Promised to pay.” He laughs. “I never did get the money. How stupid. I always tell the others to get paid up front.”

While Francis is talking, Berwald comes up to the doorway. He looks over them for a moment, trying to decide what needs to be done. Francis is clutching the coat with one hand, the other badly swollen and cradled against his chest. Broken, if he had to guess. Looking at the dark bruises on his face, Bernie’s not sure he wants to know what's under the coat. The man is frightened, shocked, and pained, despite his smile. He's seen it too many times before, more than once on this same patient and all too recently. Some of the bruises on him now are from the last incident, and fading to a dull green. He wishes he could give Francis something for the pain, but chances are it will interact badly with whatever drugs he’s on this time.

Tino looks up when Bernie finally enters, his breath catching as it always does when he sees the man in scrubs. You'd think after so long of taking care of the doctor like some shut-in, the crush he's always had would be long gone. But of course not. Of _course_ it's still there, haunting him with impossibilities, making him want things that don't exist. Like a chance to prove there's more than one true love for everyone in this world. For Bernie and for him. “He's coming down,” he says instead. Clinical, logical, just like always.

Bernie nods and tries to look gentle. He never succeeds. “What'd y'take?”

Francis digs in the pockets, only to remember once again that this isn't his coat. He tries his pants instead. There aren't any pills in these pockets, either. Just his keys and a bit of cash. He shrugs. Holly is always careful to tell him what it is, but once he’s flying high he’s got no memory of it. That’s the point, after all; to leave the world so far behind he forgets anything hurt to begin with. “Opium...something.”

“Lilliput. Opium, LSD, and something everyone's calling Dark Fairy. They're getting it from Asia,” Tino says. He's looking at Francis’ pupils, taking in the way they go crazy against his hand light. “We need to stop the bleeding. That shit will go through his blood like paint thinner.” He sighs, grabbing a tongue depressor from the shelf he'd watched Bernie install what seems like a lifetime ago. When he sticks it in Francis' mouth he finds he's right. His tongue is bright purple. “It's a tab. They dissolve it on the tongue, it turns purple. See?”

Berwald grunts, frowning. He’s getting behind on the new drugs again. Damnit. He might actually have to ask _Mattias_ for a visit…or just get Tino to make up a new list. He likes the second option much better. He gets his equipment together and pulls a gown down from the shelf. Tino pilfers them from the hospital; no one misses gowns, so they’re one thing he never runs out of. He hands this one to Francis. “Can y'put this on? We'll leave f'r a minute. Get things.”

The gown is soft under his hands, and Francis spends a moment just petting over the fabric. He doesn't want to get rid of the coat; it smells like one of his angels. But Bernie will not take it from him. The Good Doctor has an intimidating look, but his hands are always gentle. “Oui.”

Tino turns around, blushing a little at the implication: Francis is getting naked, and they need to leave for a second. He shouldn't blush. He sees it every day. But it's Francis, who could make even _Bernie_ blush if he so chose.

“I'll get the IV.” He moves, bypassing Bernie just a little too close, trying to get out the door. He needs the isotonic pressure, and they have to be careful about how they deal with those wounds.

“How bad?” Bernie asks as they stand together in the spare room he's turned into a massive supply closet. He's hoping Tino managed to see more than he did. “D'ya check his blood pressure?”

“Not as bad as it would've been in twenty minutes. He's crashing.” Tino replies, pulling out the IV and hooking up the fluids. He turns around and finds himself standing...so close. So incredibly close he can't breathe. He swallows hard, stepping back, averting his gaze to the floor. “Anyway, we need to push this fluid, hard. And whatever needs help down there, needs help, like, yesterday.”

Berwald nods; his assessment was much the same. The bruising is ugly, but it can wait for some ice. The wrist needs help, but is unlikely to get worse. It's the drugs they need to worry for, and any bleeding. He piles blankets over his arm, a tray with antiseptic, bandages, sutures...everything he can carry.

He knocks on the door with his foot, waiting for a muffled "oui" before entering. Francis seems to have shrunken in the past few minutes. Then again, everyone who sits on one of his patient beds wearing those gowns looks smaller, fragile. He wishes he was better at being comforting. It's a good thing Tino's present for this one.

XXX

It felt like a year, sitting in that long unused parlor, staring at pictures of a family that no longer existed. The pictures litter the wall, bringing personal thoughts to mind. Kiku half-wonders how Bernie seems so alright now, in comparison to himself and Francis. On the other hand, the doctor never leaves his house, so the term ‘alright’ might not really be appropriate.

Toni is not happy with the wait either. His leg jiggles, his fingers tap - nervous energy. Kiku can tell he wants to punch something, it’s written all over his face. After a long, insufferable silence, he looks up at Toni and rests a hand on his jiggling leg. “Calm down. He'll be alright.”

Toni yanks his leg away as though the touch burned him, and stares at Kiku with an irate frown. “I know that!” There’s a heavy pause, and Toni realizes his tone was a little rude. “I know that. I...” He clenches his fists, sliding away from him.

The look on Kiku's face is just about as offended as he ever lets himself show. Toni practically recoiled! Is he really that unappealing now? Frowning, he slides a little further away himself, placing his hands in his lap. He tries to keep his voice level, even as his mind snips that men have paid good money to feel his touch, and how dare this one be so offended by it! “I am angry too. We should all be angry.”

“Then be angry. S'better than killing y'rself.”

Kiku whips around and glares at the good doctor, annoyed with the way _everyone_ seems to think he wants to join Hera on the other side. “Leave me out of this, Doctor.” He narrows his eyes a little harder, looking him up and down, trying to see whatever secrets the famous stone wall hides. “What do you know so far? Has he told you anything?”

Berwald has stripped off his gloves, his apron, washed his hands, and cleaned up. Francis is buried under a pile of blankets, still coming down, but stable. The man was a mess, yet the damage wasn’t as terrible as he’d been expecting. A lot of it was old, built up from months and years of a hard life. He’d hoped that maybe with Gilbert dead Francis wouldn’t end up hurt so often. He is going to have to have a talk with Francis, whenever the man returns to his right mind.

First, he will have a talk with his other patients. Kiku is acting strangely. He knows the prostitutes better than most, simply because they come to see him on a fairly regular basis. They use protection every time, but that does not mean it is foolproof. Kiku is usually pleasant; quiet, occasionally sly, but eternally polite. This is not Kiku. This is a ghost, and Bernie already has too many of those staring down from the pictures on the walls. He gestures to an empty room with a clean bed. “Y're here. Might as well let me look y'over.”

Kiku crosses his leg tighter over the other, feeling self-conscious and more than a little annoyed. “Tell me what you know, and I'll let you look your fill, ‘Doctor'.” it comes out as a sharp jab, the tone almost mocking. He doesn't know why he's so angry, but he damn well is. It's like the man's avoiding his questions, choosing instead to pick at him like some hungry buzzard. “I'll even let you touch if you ask nice.”

Berwald’s eye twitches. He _never_ touches his patients that way; he is a good man, a good doctor, and even when he got a little lost he never hurt anyone. His face remains solemn and his voice is monotone. He is used to dealing with people who are in pain, particularly people who are _stubborn_ and in pain. “I don't need t'touch. Want t'check y're weight, and y're pulse, and listen t'y're lungs. Y'look sick.”

Toni’s eyes shoot to Kiku and stay there for a moment, reflecting on things that he knows. Kiku does look sick. Very. But it could just be Hera, right? Losing someone you're that in love with can really fuck with a person. It has to be grief. His fists curl at his sides. It _has_ to be. He would _never_...

“Well I'm certainly sick of _waiting_.” Kiku pulls his limbs in even tighter, finally curling his legs beneath him, refusing to stand. “I'd be better knowing what the hell happened last night.”

Part of Bernie wants to tell them what he can, hoping that they can do more to fix this. But he's got his rules, and he has to stick to them. Everything that happens here, every word that is said under his care, is completely confidential unless it is information he must use to save their lives. He turns for the kitchen. “M'making tea and breakfast. Kiku, if y'go without eating, I’m going t’tell Tino t' take y't'the hospital.”

Kiku leans on the arm of the couch and gives Bernie the sternest look he can muster before finally relenting and picking up an apple. “Give me what I want, and I'll eat.”

Berwald remains silent as he puts the kettle on. His kitchen is perfectly organized, much like everything else in his house. Part of it is from Tino, and part of it is because he cannot stand to have things all over the place. His life was a mess once. He won't let it happen again, and he won't see it happen to anyone else if he can help it. He starts on some oatmeal. It's hearty stuff, but goes down easy. Good for them all. “He kept mentioning angels,” he says, keeping things vague. He’s trying to gauge what these two know, not betray Francis. He needs to know if Francis was hallucinating.

Kiku almost growls, turning away for a moment, half-thinking about hurling the apple at Bernie's head. “I've met the angels. They're quite nice. I want to know about the devil. Did Frannie know who it was?”

Francis had mumbled a name, along with a lot of other things, but the way he said it, the way he clutched that coat and his eyes went wide, Bernie knew. If he says something, however, Toni’s likely to kill the man. Bernie wants to save lives, not end them; not that he never questions such a goal when men like that are involved. Sometimes he wonders what he would do if he found the driver who killed his husband and son. Would he obey his rules then? He shakes his head; no use wondering, when it’s unlikely he’ll ever find out. Even the cops never uncovered enough evidence. “We could use angels,” he says in the end.

“Fuck angels! Fuck this, if you won’t say anything I’ll find the bastard myself,” Toni growls. He stomps out, grabbing his guns and slamming the door.

Kiku looks toward the door, thinking about going off to catch Toni in case he's gunning for those nice boys. But he wouldn't be. Frannie made it clear that they're under his wing. His attention returns to the doctor; he could feel those pale blue eyes digging into the back of his head.

“M'sorry,” says Berwald. “'Bout...I mean, I understand.” His eyes shift away to the smiling man and little boy on the walls.

Kiku looks to the floor, studying the grains in the wood, wishing he was back in his room, back in his bed, reveling in the emptiness without thinking instead of studying it like this fucking doctor seems so willing to do. “I don't think you do.” He says it softly, chewing on his lower lip. Berwald... It was a sad tale to think about. He had everything. A legitimate job, a beautiful house, a husband, a little boy; a sweet life for a city bent on ripping the decent things in life away. He and Hera, on the other hand... They were...not real lovers. Not committed that way. There was never supposed to be anything permanent there, yet now he feels like he's lost half his soul. Maybe they had something. Maybe what they had was more than what they called it. Maybe he should've said the words - _the_ word. What did it matter now? What did _any_ of it matter now?

Berwald’s eyes slide to the hall, where Tino is putting things away and peeking in on Francis. Perhaps he doesn't understand. He has spent years _trying_ to understand, and it never makes any more sense than it did the night of the accident. It doesn't make sense for him to be here now, either, feeling more akin to a couple of whores than anyone else. The pot starts whistling. The oatmeal is ready. “Y're right. Eat anyway. Maybe tomorrow it'll taste like food.”

Kiku watches in vague disgust as Bernie pours the hot water into the little bowl, wondering if there's anything he can say to get out of eating it. Probably not. Resigned to his fate, he curls up further on the couch and waits for Bernie to bring him the bowl before he, begrudgingly, spoons through the mush.


	6. Patients, Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Berwald and Tino dance around their own problems while taking care of Francis and Kiku.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Fair warning that we are taking a **brief break** from our regular updates, because twoscarypandas are going to **OTAKON** this weekend! We're very excited. If you're at the con look for us on Saturday, we'll be cosplaying dark!France and dark!Prussia. Following the con we're taking a little update vacation to recharge. We'll see you in about a week!

Berwald spent the day looking after his patients. Tino went to work after a hurried bowl of oatmeal. He knows Tino's schedule most of the time, but little else. He should know more about Tino, about what he does when he is not working and not at the clinic. He can't really recall if there _is_ anywhere else Tino goes. Bernie tries to puzzle it out between coaxing Kiku into eating, taking care of Francis, and _finally_ getting Kiku to allow an exam. Kiku is not ill; at least, not by the standards of traditional medicine. Heartache is something he cannot heal, though he does everything that he can.

Evening falls, and he has no more answers than he did in the early morning. When Tino returns, looking exhausted but still smiling, Bernie hands him a plate of microwaved vegetables and a sandwich, and decides its time he actually learned something new. “What do y'do? I mean, when y're not with me.”

Tino frowns at the plate, confused but touched by the offer, and places it on the counter. He takes apart the sandwich and uses the filling and the vegetables to make a stir-fry. He's exhausted, but if he's learned anything from caring for Bernie, it's that Bernie can't cook to save his life. The sentiment was sweet, though, and he can't help smiling as he hands the bread back to him. “Nothing. Sleep. Sometimes I read, but I can never finish a book. Why?”

“Because.” Because he should know what his best, his _only_ friend likes to do. He should tell Tino to leave more often, to take time for himself and not worry about the fool who cannot leave his own house. It is only the downstairs that has changed into his clinic. The upstairs remains exactly as it was. Only Tino has seen it, and Berwald feels badly because he yelled at him for being there. Someday he will show him. Not today. Never today, always someday.

Tino raises an eyebrow at that, then opens the cabinet he's claimed as 'his' to retrieve a bottle of olive oil. The sandwich appears to be turkey. Turkey and veggie stir-fry it is. He also grabs the pepper grinder and the lone clove of garlic. He wonders if Bernie even notices he filled a cabinet; he's never once touched it. Not to his knowledge. The frying pan is in the drying rack and he pulls it out, setting it on the stove. “I read. I work at the hospital. Sometimes I meet friends for drinks, but that rarely happens anymore. I...” He sighs, thinking on it. What _does_ he do? “I sleep. I study up. Sometimes I watch TV - shows that aren't running anymore. I don't have a very interesting life, Bernie.” The words make him feel slightly pathetic, so he keeps his focus on the stove.

Berwald raises an eyebrow. “Y'volunteer every day at an illegal clinic run by an agoraphobic who lost ‘is medical license. Y'take care of me and m'patients. Y'save the lives of the ones everyone else forgets. I think y're interesting.”

Olive oil rolls around the inside of the pan, and Tino blushes hard at the overwhelming flow of compliments from the man he adores. It feels damn good to hear them, but he can't let them go to his head. He pours the contents of his former plate into the pan. “Yes, well. Considering you're the agoraphobic, I must seem like a regular dynamo.”

Bernie tries to smile a little. He knows too many people’s secrets, things that he can never speak aloud for fear they might crack the very earth and send this city into the abyss. Despite this, it is Tino he finds most interesting. Tino is still a mystery, one that cannot be broken down into flesh and blood and bone.

There are footsteps, and Berwald glances up. It's Kiku, so Tino’s mysteries will have to wait. He hopes the smell of food brought him, but he has a feeling that's too much to hope for. “Y'alright?”

Kiku nods softly, looking toward the pan on the stove. It's filled with vegetables and some kind of meat. He doesn't care for it. He jerks his head toward the hall. “Francis is waking up.” For some reason, he feels very cold. He pulls the robe around himself a little tighter.

Tino blinks, turning off the stove and wiping his hands on his pants, moving toward the little powder room they've been using to sanitize themselves. Quickly prepping, he heads into Francis' resting room and moves to stand in front of him. “Headache?” He asks softly, hoping his voice doesn't make Frannie want to stuff a pillow down his throat.

Headache implies localized pain. So no, Francis thinks, he does not have a headache, although his head is certainly part of it. He squints up at the nurse while Bernie takes a gentle hold of his good hand and checks his pulse. The other is encased in thick bandages and stiff boards. Berwald doesn't have access to plaster casts most of the time, but he makes do.

God, he is _never_ taking those pills again. Of course, if Francis had a dollar for every time he said that, he'd probably never have to have sex again. Which would be a shame. Even after last night, even though right now he is chilled by the thought of thick, heavy hands and the stench of sweat and sex. He will get over that. He has before. He groans and sits slowly. “Am I allowed to _take_ anything yet?”

“Nope,” Tino answers, checking his pupils and jotting down a couple of notes. “Baby aspirin in twelve more hours. Nothing more than two of those every six hours for at least a day. Then we can start you on the harder stuff. But don't you _dare_ take those tabs again, or I swear to God I will come to Rainbow myself and drag you off to involuntary, non-negotiable rehab. Trust me, if you think the hospital's bad, you've never had _me_ guarding your ass.”

Francis winces at the volume, and more at the word choice. “Apparently I need that,” he mutters, looking down at the blankets and, over top of it all, the coat. It's still got spots of blood on it; he wouldn't let them take it.

“Yeah, apparently you do,” Tino replies. Alright, maybe that was a little harsh. It just feels like every time he tries to get through to someone, it rolls right off their back. Ridiculous. He's sick of it, and sick of being ignored, and sick of people being dumb when they know very well what the smart thing to do would be. “Would you like some water?” He turns toward the kitchen, feeling flustered.

Berwald almost smiles, only because he knows that tone. Tino can be critical when he needs to be. Bernie himself has certainly been on the receiving end. Somehow, when Tino says those things, it is effective. Tino's not big enough to intimidate, he never carries a weapon, and he has no real 'connections,' but when he glares and growls about your health, you do what he says. There's no question. He helps Francis sit forward a bit, undoing the back of his gown and pressing the stethoscope against it. It's a good excuse to check on the long, fresh scratches over his shoulders, and the older scab on the back of his head, under the hair, which tells the story of his last clinic visit.

Tino returns with water, still feeling bad. Francis is more focused on wincing, so he stands back and lets Bernie check him out, making sure to stay out of the way and keep silent when he knows he's not needed. There's no question Francis is going to be out of work for a few days. Though judging by Eliza’s earlier phone call, prying for information, he will still have a place to stay. Lucky him.

Kiku already told Francis that Eliza was worried. That’s a good sign. He _could_ always go home with Toni, but Toni lives in the same place as Lovino, Feliciano, Ludwig...Gilbert. He can’t handle all of that right now. He wants his own bed, in his own room with his poster of the Eiffel Tower, his map of France, his massive, comfortable bed and the smell that is home, not this sterile, blank place. He looks to Berwald. “May I go home?”

Berwald is not in the habit of keeping patients unless they need to stay. This is not a hospital; if the situation is that serious, he does his best to get them to the closest one, even if they do not want to go. But Francis is likely to do better where he is comfortable. The only problem about sending him home is that the Rainbow is also his workplace. “Y'can. But, y'need t'let y'r body heal. Y've been torn, and that can cause serious problems. Point is, no sex for a month.”

Kiku has been standing in the doorway for the last few minutes, and with that, his jaw hits the floor. “ _WHAT_?”

Francis balks as well. “A MONTH?! Doctor, that is my livelihood! I can see a week or two, but a month...that is a lot of money!” He's hurting now, and it's true that he doesn't really want to be touched. Yet this is his life, his work. A month without it is going to leave him with a very tight budget. That's if Eliza doesn't kick him out. He doubts she would, she's too kind a soul, but what about the way they left things last night?

Berwald grits his teeth. He figured there would be a fight on this one. “If y'want t'keep y'r assets, y'have t'listen t'me. If y're not careful y'can do permanent damage. M'sure the world would be deprived.” He deadpans all of it, wondering if they understand that the last line is a joke. He tries, but most people find his humor frightening. “Y'can...I mean, there're other ways. Use y're…” Color rises to his cheeks. This is not his line of things at all. He’s sure they can figure out their own ways to work around it.

To Kiku, the thought is unbelievable. Francis going celibate is like the Italian brothers going celibate! Or _Yao_ , even! Never! His mind whirls with the quick calculations. The brothel makes fifteen percent of all earnings, but on Francis's work Liza had cut the percentage down to ten; Lord knows, the man earns that extra five percent. With the average amount of clients he takes every day, plus the amount of parties he attends, this month is going to cost the brothel big time. “That's nearly ten thousand dollars in business for _RAINBOW'S ALONE_.”

Berwald’s eye twitches, but there is no other sign of his surprise. Even now it is hard to get used to the ridiculous amount of money that is shifted around among the citizens of this backwards city. Most of it will never get into the hands of the actual people, and remains with the big bosses; people like Ivan and, until recently, Gilbert. All _that_ money must be with Ludwig now.

For better or worse, those are the same people who pay him to take care of their underlings, when their underlings can give him nothing but thanks or offer to pick up his groceries. Bernie’s never worried about the money, not like he used to be. Whenever he thinks he will finally have to start charging regularly, or close his doors, there is some unexpected 'donation' to his little charity - very often from Roma's Pasta Shell Company. He takes a breath and hardens his resolve. “It’s not about money. It’s about y'r body, y'r _life_. If y'don't take a break, y'll never work again. I've heard a lot of people say they...care about y'. They wouldn't want t'lose y'for good.”

Kiku sighs, staring at the good doctor with both respect and annoyance. Francis really _is_ in no shape to be screwing around too much. With that broken wrist, there’s no way he is going to be offering helping hands, either. He sighs, and nods. “I'll see to it that he's kept in line.” He smirks at his friend, letting him know that he'll be strict - to a point. “When can we bring him back for a look at that arm?”

Bernie goes to his shelves and pulls out a sling. If there's no plaster to keep the wrist completely immobile, he can at least offer something to ease the strain. It will also serve to remind Francis that he isn't supposed to be using that arm. It takes him a minute to get it adjusted so that the wrist is supported, rather than the elbow and forearm that the sling is made for. “It'll take 'bout six weeks. But y'can come before then. Two or three, and I'll make sure everything else looks alright, too. Oh, hold on. M'gonna give y'some pills.” He has been debating about that all day, considering Francis' habits. In the end, however, a good dose of antibiotics wouldn't hurt. He’s worried about the bite on his shoulder.

Francis glares at the sling and makes a face at the doctor's back. He isn’t happy with all these rules. On the other hand, he feels like shit. Probably looks it, too. Until at least the bruising on his face has gone down, he's not going to get many clients anyway. He ducks his head a little, feeling terribly stupid. “I...thank you.”

Kiku takes the pill bottle from the doctor and smiles a little, offering him a charmingly apologetic bow, eyes peering up from beneath his lashes. “I will make sure he takes them, and not the others. I am sorry for my behavior. I was very rude to you.”

Bernie tries a smile, and presses an apple into Francis' good hand. He jerks his head toward Kiku. “Y're gonna make 'im eat. And bring 'im with y'when y'come back.”

Francis laughs, keeping hold of Bernie's hand along with the apple so he can kiss it. “You have my word, mon docteur.”

Trying not to notice the slight and not-so-slight flirting, Tino throws the "Angel Jacket" over Frances' shoulders (maybe a little roughly). He heads for the chart on the counter, very carefully not looking at either of them. “I'll schedule an appointment for you both in three weeks. Does that work? The seventh is perfect. It's my day off. I'll be here _all day_.” The last is said with a pointed glance back at Francis.

Francis smirks. It is crystal clear to him, and probably to most, that Tino is in love with the Good Doctor. He's protective of him, jealous of anyone Bernie touches, comes every day to make sure the man has enough food...yes. L'amour.

It's harder to tell with Berwald, whose face rarely changes. For a while Francis was convinced that the man was utterly asexual, despite having once been married. Marriage does not require sex, after all, and the doctor’s son had been adopted. But then, romance does not require sex either. Bernie's face seems a little less serious with Tino around. Perhaps this is exactly what the two of them need; someone to care for. The thought is bittersweet, and his smirk falls. “Oui, oui. Fine. Kiku, did you call anyone with a car?”

Kiku nods, checking his cellphone and trying not to grin at the way Tino is practically marking his territory. “Liza is out front. She says she's going to charge men to masturbate in your bed if you're not going to take care of them for the next month.”

“Not fair!” Francis cries. “I am supposed to be resting and recuperating there!” He gets to his feet anyway, wincing.

Kiku grins, taking his good arm and allowing their sides to brush just on the intimate side of proper. “Well, my dear, I suppose we'll have to make you look absolutely ravishing tonight. If they're going to be looking at you while they do it, we might as well give them their money's worth.”

Berwald pushes his glasses back so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. He will never understand these people. “Tell 'Liza I said not t'night. Give it time.” He takes hold of Francis' chin, taking a last look at his eyes. The drugs are gone, but the fear's still there, and he can feel the pulse in his neck beating like a rabbit's. “Few days. Y'might not feel it now, but...s'gonna hurt.”

Kiku rolls his eyes, unworried. They've all been through something like this at least once. Francis, more than once. They'll be fine at the end of the day. Just like always. “We'll see you in three weeks, Bernie.” He says it crisply, pulling Francis along by his good arm, intent on moving into his room for at least that long. He's not letting him out of his sight again.

At the door, Eliza is waiting for them. The very sight of the pair melts her heart. Oh, God, how could she have been so cruel? Yes, sometimes she has to be the bad guy to keep things running smoothly for everyone, but she should never have told Francis to leave! Not like this. A sob escapes, and she immediately embraces the pair, running gentle fingers over Francis' face. “I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean for this, I didn't want this! Oh Francis, I should have...!”

Francis kisses her forehead, all forgiven. They are both stubborn and they have very different ideas about how things should be run at times, but in the end they are as close as siblings. Closer, perhaps. At the very least more intimate; unless you're counting Yao and Kiku, but they're not full brothers and they do not particularly like one another. “All is well, ma princesse. It is not your fault.”

Smiling a little, Kiku drags them both into a soft, easy hug. He’s glad to see them okay. “Thank you for not killing each other. And, Liza, I'll thank you not to kick my dear friend out again. So long as he remains sober.” He gives Frannie a determined look before pulling away and heading for the car.

Berwald raises an eyebrow from his spot by the door. There's a cool evening breeze running through the air. He looks down at the inches separating his front hall from the world outside. There's mud on the carpet now. He'll have to clean that up. He shuts the door.

Tino is humming again as he cleans up the clinic area, scrubbing everything down with disinfectant and trying to remember how the song actually went. Something about a girl with a smile. That narrows it down. Half laughing to himself, he puts the disposable tools in the trash and saves the ones that can be cleaned. He feels Bernie in the room before he ever looks up, so he smiles. “How many songs to you know about girls with pretty smiles?”

The doctor blinks. Sometimes he has trouble keeping up with Tino. “Don' know.” The sheets need to be changed, the dirty ones washed and bleached. There's a bit of blood on them, but nothing too terrible. They're salvageable. “Don't think about pretty girls very much.”

Tino laughs a little, turning around to take the bundle of sheets from him. “Clearly.” There's a half-pile of laundry heaped on the floor; Francis' robe is salvageable, but he didn't seem to think so, and finders-keepers is the rule of the clinic. He pulls the whole lump into his arms and turns to Berwald, half afraid to ask. “Your husband, he was... um. Quite pretty. I suppose that counts.”

Bernie freezes up, his whole spine going so stiff that he feels like if he tries to move it will snap. He thought it might not hurt to think about after all these years, and yet it still stings. “Ja.” He forces himself to turn, to keep moving and busy himself with something. “Y'think about pretty girls? There’s lots of them, I s'ppose, at Mercy.”

Tino laughs out loud at that, shaking his head hard. “Bernie, if you didn't know by now that I have _no_ reason whatsoever to think about pretty _girls_...” He's still chuckling as he wanders out of the room toward where the washer is hidden by a pair of shutter doors.

Berwald shrugs, following him out with a tray of tools to be cleaned and sterilized in his back room, right next to the laundry. The whole place smells like chemicals and antiseptic. “I figured. But y'never talk about _anyone_.” If he's honest with himself, he has always been a little relieved that Tino doesn’t talk about his relationships. At first it was because the very mention of love made him want to down an entire bottle of hard liquor, but now there's something more to it that twists in his gut.

Tino shrugs, still half-chuckling and shaking his head. “There isn't anybody to talk about. Just...” _'You'._ He smiles, trying not to blush. “No time to play boyfriend. I don't think I could fit a guy in my apartment, let alone my life.”

He hesitates, but Bernie feels he must speak. “Y'could, if y'spent less time here.” It wouldn't be fair to Tino if he avoided pointing that out. As much as he would like to have him around all the time, he does not want to be any more of a burden than he already is.

Tino freezes, not really looking up. He's almost afraid to. Is Bernie trying to say he doesn’t want him around anymore? “I like working here. Is it a problem for you?” he asks, very, very softly, begging Bernie to say it's not. He can't even think of what life would be like without this, them, every day. He doesn't want to consider about it. But Francis was very generous with his affection earlier, and maybe Bernie is starting to consider having a life outside his house. Who needs a little fanboy hanging around when you're trying to pick up the pieces of a shattered past and move on?

“Of course not!” He can't believe Tino would think it could be a problem. He can't imagine life without him. “Y'do so much for me. More than all this,” he gestures to the laundry, “y'make me less lonely. I like havin' y'here. But I don't want t'keep y'. Y'have a life, and y'shouldn't have t'spend it all with...someone like me.” He turns away again. No, Tino should be with other happy, smiling people. Not a man who lives in a mausoleum, practically waiting to be buried.

_“I don' want t'keep y'...”_ The words sting, though Tino knows they aren't meant to. He smiles through it, turning away and opening the cabinet above the washer, trying to reach the bleach. “Well, I like your work and your company. So I suppose you're stuck with me.” He finally gets a hold of it and uncaps it, spreading out the sheet to find the stains.

Berwald smiles a little, coming up behind him to help open the sheet. Tino's back is warm against his chest, and his hair smells nice amidst all the chemicals. “Thank y'.”

God, Tino’s never going to get over this, is he? Bernie’s body is warm and hard, unmovable, unshakable. He wants so badly just to sink into him, just to... to _feel_ and let himself indulge in the fantasy that this could be something. But he knows better. He'll be waiting forever if he stays in love with this man. That's worse than any pain he's felt when it comes to love. He needs to move on, and he _knows_ it.

Closing his eyes tight to keep any stupid, worthless tears at bay, he slides out of Bernie’s arms and leaves the sheet in his hands. “I - um.” He swallows hard, rubbing a hand over his face and turning around. “I got new detergent. It's in the car, I'll just...” He retreats quickly, heading for the back door and at least some measure of sanity.


	7. The Rose and the China Doll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis and Kiku decide that grieving together is better than grieving alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we're back! We had a fabulous time at the con and met some really cool people. It also gave us the chance to discuss some of the awesome things we have in store for this story. It's gonna be good. (Or bad, depending on your favorite character.)

Francis has never been so glad to be back in his own room. It's gotten late now and he can hear the johns outside, but Eliza was kind enough to give both he _and_ Kiku the night to recover themselves. She and the others are going to be busy tonight. Liza is going to try to get Roderich to turn a few tricks, too, but there is a reason they call Roddy the Gentleman Whore; he much prefers working in the casino, playing his music. Francis feels a little guilty for all the trouble, but since the moment he reached his bed he has not wanted to get up again.

Kiku returns from the little bathroom with a cup of water and aspirin. He smiles at the look of relief on Francis' face at the sight of the pills. “You _must_ be in pain.” He laughs a little, sliding into the bed next to him and holding out the tray like a good servant. The man is propped up on enough pillows to hide a harem, and he still looks uncomfortable. There's some homemade delicacies Kiku’s mother taught him how to cook lining the tray - fried tofu and a little soup to go easy on the stomach. “Eat before you take it. I don't like it when you take things on an empty stomach.”

Francis smirks. “Mm, but Kiku, it's not good to 'take' things when you're too full. You'll get cramps.” He takes the tray anyway, spooning the soup into his mouth. In their line of work it is useful to be ambidextrous, so the broken wrist does not hinder him very much.

“Like you've ever had a cramp.” Kiku smirks back, looking down at the fried tofu, feeling a sudden pang of hunger. But they are for Francis. He restrains himself. He sits on his knees, reaching over and pulling at one of the pillows until he has something to prop his elbow up on. Sufficiently propped, he leans on his palm. “You're such a natural.”

“Practice makes perfect, cheri. You, however, are such a beauty you hardly need it.” He catches Kiku eyeing the tofu. Excellent. If Kiku’s really hungry, then it may make it easier to fulfill his promise to Berwald. He puts the spoon down to nudge the plate towards him. “Eat. Please.”

Kiku shakes his head, pushing it back toward him. “You're not getting out of eating, my friend.” He reaches over, tugging Frannie’s hair affectionately. “I want you well enough to tell me what a fool you were. Not that you'll ever admit such things.” He takes a fried triangle in his hand and dips it in sauce, offering it to him. “Eat.”

He should be opening his lips, wrapping them around the morsel so that he can suck on Kiku's fingers until he pulls away. Instead Francis puts another spoonful of soup in his mouth. “I am eating. I _have_ been eating. I am a damned fool. You are a fool who is _still_ not eating.” He watches Kiku from the corner of his eyes. It is very difficult to win an argument with Kiku if you maintain eye contact. There's just something about his stare that makes you feel like the man knows everything.

Kiku sighs, looking down at the fried tofu between his fingers, pouting at it. He doesn't understand it himself. Everything has become unappetizing, everything hurts; not physically, but worse, deep within. “Every time I think about it, food just doesn't look good. It looks... heavy.”

Francis puts the spoon down carefully, looking at him, but never his eyes. Kiku is looking down anyway. He isn't sure what to say to make this better. If he knew, he would have said it to himself. Perhaps if he tries to explain what he’d been looking for last night, Kiku will find his own answers. “Gil...Gilbert liked rough sex. He liked to feel good, so good that pain was pleasure. He was a _presence_ , a force of life and passion in the form of something exotic and beautiful, dangerous. I thought....I thought maybe, if I found that again, that fire, I could...I don't know. Not replace him, just not miss him so much.”

Smiling a little, Kiku sets the fried piece of nothing on the tray and looks down at it, trying not to cry. His other hand rests in Francis' hair, combing through it, listening to him, trying to remember how to apologize for life, for things that don't make sense, for horrible, tragic things that take all the strength from a man. “You can't replace people, Francis. No one exactly fits.” He closes his eyes, breathing in. “He loved you. So much. More than anyone.”

Francis’s laugh is bitter, and he wipes furiously at his stinging eyes. “No he didn't. I'm not stupid, just a little sentimental. He loved his brother, he loved _himself_. He loved me a little bit, but there were others. I cannot blame him; he was never the only one I loved. Just one I loved too much.”

He leans into Kiku's touch, breathing in the scent of incense that always clings to his soft skin. How did he let himself get so out of control, when Kiku is the one who lost so much more? Kiku _needed_ him, and instead of being there, he'd gone and made himself the victim. He turns his head to kiss Kiku's palms. “Hera did love you. He told me so. He asked if I thought you would want to meet his mother.”

Kiku turns stiff, closing up against the soft, tender kisses. That's the last thing he wants to hear. The _last_ thing. They never even... It was _sex_. It was sex, and sweet words, and a little bit of undue favoritism. Even as he thinks it, he knows it's not true. He was _shattered_ that night, and he has yet to figure out how to make himself better.

“I'm...” Kiku pulls his hand away, rubbing it over his face and pressing it into his eyes. “I'm certainly glad he didn't ask _me_.” He laughs somewhat bitterly, but his lips feel stuck together, and he can't breathe. Suddenly, it's quite hard to feel anything but pain twisting in his chest, and a longing that makes him feel like he'll be empty forever. His hand presses harder, holding his eyes closed to keep the tears at bay. “Really?”

Francis pushes the tray carefully off his lap, out of range of spilling. There's enough room for four people in his bed - five or six if they're willing to be a little cramped. He pulls Kiku against him with his good hand, trying to hold him together even though he feels like the man is breaking beneath his fingers.   
“Yes,” he whispers against his ear. “And you loved him. He knows it, Kiku. I'm sure he does.”

Kiku shakes his head slowly against his shoulder, unable to stop himself from a soft, dry sob. “How could he? How _could_ he know?” He hugs Frannie gently, careful of the bruises but cold and not wanting to let go of whatever warmth is here to take. Breathing him in, he holds on, shaking a little as he tries to drag himself back from the heartache. “I want him back. I just want to _tell_ him.”

God, it _hurts_ , and all Francis wants to do is to find those little purple tabs and go back to flying high, even if it kills him in the end. But he can't. He has to stay _here_ , stay with his friend, they have to...fix this? There is no fixing this. He'd seen the bodies, the blood and brains spilled across the street like so much garbage. It makes him shake, and he buries his face in Kiku's hair. “So do I.”

Kiku feels him shake, feeling him scared and sad against his body, wanting so much to flee this world. So he clings to him, refusing to let him get away, even as Francis does the same. He's so scared that the words come out shaky. “Don't leave me.” He says it fast, on a breath. “Don't. I can't see you go. If you go, I don't know how I'll live, Francis. Please.”

Francis wraps his good arm around him, hand pressed tight against his back. He can feel Kiku's tears, wet and warm against his chest. His own are surely soaking Kiku's hair. He moves a leg to tangle with his in lieu of a second arm. Everything feels so broken. The world has shifted and something bad is coming; he can feel it deep down. They are all going to pay. But together, maybe he and Kiku will survive. “I will not, cheri, not if it is in my power. I swear it. But you must promise not to leave me, either.”

Kiku holds him for a long, long time, breathing him in, getting his breath back, making sure he's stopped shaking enough that he can pull away and not feel like he's going to bolt. When he finally does pull back, it's only to press his lips to Francis, at the hollow of his throat, soft and tender - a barely-there kiss. “I don't think I could.” He sighs it, curling into Francis carefully, taking advantage of his warmth and scent and the grief they share.

Francis nods toward the tray, his good hand still wrapped around Kiku. “Then _eat_ , cheri. For my sake, eat.”

Kiku smiles a little, surprised at the life still left in him, and then grins. “Make me.”

For a moment Francis stares, trying to decide what this is, if Kiku means what he thinks he does. That smile...he's seen it before. Knows it well. _That_ is the Kiku he knows, playful and seductive. He grins back. Despite the fact that their eyes are still red and there are tear tracks down their cheeks, it feels like a bit of the world has decided to slide back into place. With a laugh, he caresses Kiku’s back, letting his hand slide low. “But my dear, I have been banned from such pursuits; lovely as I am sure they would be with you.”

Kiku is surprised himself. Surprised and...well. It's amusing just how easy it is. It feels simple with Francis. They know the rules. They know how to play with each other, and they know that right now, when they're at their most vulnerable, there is no safer release. He couldn't do this with anyone else; couldn't flirt, couldn't kiss, couldn't…Just couldn't. But with Francis, it's like breathing. “I did not hear the good doctor forbid you from feeding me _things_.” He smirks a little, tapping his nose. “In fact, I believe I heard him insist that you make me eat.”

Kiku is absolutely nothing like Gilbert. Kiku is quiet, never demanding, gentle unless they are playing a game, dark haired and dark eyed and all smoothness. Perhaps...perhaps this is exactly what Francis needs. “Come eat, then.”


	8. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toris visits his boyfriend, Feliks, in the hospital, and the pair continue to adjust their relationship as they deal with poverty and disease. Meanwhile, Eduard and Raivis argue over the later's late-night wanderings and a jealousy neither one is willing to name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday my lovelies! Here's a new chapter to celebrate, with the introduction of Feliks! And get excited, because the next chapter will introduce a couple of characters you've been asking about since the beginning.

Mercy Hospital is one of Toris' least favorite places. But it is his reluctant home these days, and he visits even in the off-hours, sneaking into Feliks' room with real food and some things to read. The first time Feliks requested a book, of all things, Toris nearly spit his drink. But apparently his lover can still surprise him. Good surprises and... not so great ones. He doesn't want to think on it; indeed, he's made a career of _not_ thinking on it. He just wants to be with the man he loves. Always. For as long as he can. So tonight he's bringing the newest popular mystery and a bag of burgers, slipping into his room and turning on the bedside lamp.

Feliks is sleeping. Toris doesn't really want to wake him, so he leaves the book and bag by his bedside and crawls into bed with him, resting an arm over his chest. Feliks is warm. He feels so good after today. Even now, even here when he looks like a ghost in comparison to his former self. Toris presses his face into his shoulder and breathes him in, taking in his scent and committing it to memory once more.

Feliks is really on the borderline of sleep, that place where dreams and reality blend until it is difficult to tell the difference. The sun is suddenly out, and he and Toris are lying together in a field of rye. He blinks when Toris shifts to lay a hand over him, the weight bringing him a little closer to waking. The light is very bright. Toris smells like vodka. Vodka? He blinks again, shifting a little. “Tori?”

Toris looks up and sees the little crease in Feliks' forehead, the slight shift in his shoulders. “Hey.” He smiles, dragging his hand away and resting it on the mattress. “I was about to go to sleep next to you.”

It takes a few more blinks for Feliks to figure out that he is not looking at the sun, but a lamp. They are not in the fields, either. They are in a hospital bed. But Toris is real, and that is all that matters. He reaches out to touch his face, smiling sleepily. “I sleep way better when you're here. I will, like, never understand how you get in past visiting hours though.”

Toris smiles a little, thinking of Tino, who knows him, and the other nurses who let him by without so much as a glance. What they don't see, they can't get in trouble for. And he knows they sympathize. “I have my ways. How was your day?” He reaches up, pressing his knuckles to his lover's face in a gentle caress.

“Let's see...I finished my last book. Counted ceiling tiles again - I got 183 this time. I don't know why it keeps changing. I swear they mess with them just to make me think I'm losing it. Got poked with a bunch of needles.” He holds up his arm for Toris to see where they've been taking blood from, a bandaid pressed firmly in place. He sighs and presses his face into Toris' neck. “It's boring. And stupid. The medicine they give me makes me feel all gross, and I want to go home with you.”

Toris sighs, really not wanting to tell him that at this rate, he might have to. The bills are immense. He's scratching the bottom of their savings just to keep Feliks here. Right now, it's looking like he'll either have to get another job, or lose the apartment and just stay here until... God, he doesn't want to think about "until". It's now that matters. Now. “I'm sorry it sucks so much. I'll get you more books, okay?” He's been making fair use of his library card, that much is certain.

Feliks can tell that there is more Toris isn't saying; he can hear it in the strain of his voice. But after all of this, he owes Toris a secret or two. He owes his boyfriend everything. Toris is the one who took everything in stride, never getting angry or forcing questions, or forcing _anything_ but that one trip to the hospital when things got bad. Granted, he has not left since that particular trip. Now Toris is paying the price for that as well. He snuggles closer, sniffling. “Thanks. You're too good to me, you know? You could totally just leave me here, and I mean…I wouldn't blame you.”

“Why would I?” It's a stupid question, but one he still doesn't know the answer to. He loves him so much, leaving was never a possibility, not even a thought. “Shut up about stupid things, Feli.” He laughs a little, trying to blow it off. “You're everything to me. So I'm going to treat you right.”

“I'm sorry, Toris,” Feliks whispers, as he has many, many times since they ended up here. “I never meant...I didn't want...it wasn't...oh God.” He swallows hard, trying to take Toris’ advice. But this isn't a stupid thing. He could've gotten Toris sick, no matter how careful he was. God, he hates this.

Toris doesn't want to hear it - doesn't want to _think_ about it. He's kept himself from knowing for so long already. He doesn't want to know, doesn't _need_ to. He wants to keep Feliks in his mind as the man he loves. Knowing would just...

“Hey.” Toris forces his mind away, leaning up and kissing his mouth. “Stop it. I- I think I'm getting a raise soon.” _'If I'm good,'_ his mind sighs. “The new boss is loaded, and he really wants the place to do well.”

Feliks forces the sadness from his face. He finds Toris’ hand and squeezes it. “That's totally great!” Poor Hans. The old man was good to them, even when he caught them fucking _on_ the bar that one time. What did it matter what Hans did before, or that the bar had been sinking for years? He was a good guy. This new owner bothers him. Whenever Toris talks about Mr. Braginski, there just seems to be something off. Toris can't even keep his phone on him! Which totally sucks, because Feliks wants to text him constantly. It really is boring being sick. “I hope you get it. I know you will; you were keeping that place alive already!”

“Yeah, I think I will.” Toris smiles, crawling up his lover's body and pressing their lips together. “So things are looking up.” He kisses him, hands wandering down his sides and reaching for the hem of his hospital pajamas.

Feliks smacks at his hands. “Tori! In a hospital here! There's like, sick people and stuff.”

Toris sighs a little, but just barely relents, pulling his hands up to touch his face. It's been so long. He's got condoms and, well, they don't even have to _do_ it. He just wants to be close to him like that again. He misses it. “Babe, c'mon...” He kisses his mouth again, dragging his fingers back down to caress the inside of his thigh.

Those hands make it _very_ difficult for Feliks to resist. Even though he feels weak and too hot and achy all over, Toris is like a cure. When he's with him, he instantly feels better. It's like he's not sick at all. All the same, he pulls his mouth away and closes his eyes. “I don't want to get you sick.” He caresses Toris’ face, opening his eyes to look at him seriously. “I love you, you know that? I like doing those things with you - I mean it should be totally obvious at this point. But I can't stand the thought of you even getting the sniffles because of me.”

Toris shakes his head slowly, resting his lips against Feliks’ neck and breathing out a low, easy sigh. Part of him understands. He gets that Feliks doesn't feel well, and he knows that Feliks wants him to be okay. However, there's still a part of him that wants to throw it all to hell because he doesn't know how he'll survive without this man. He doesn't want to. Rolling off to his side, he leaves a hand on Feliks’ stomach to feel its rise and fall. “I don't care, Feli. I want to be with you again. To... you know.” He smiles, just a little sheepish.

Damnit. Toris is not making this easy. But Feliks is tired, and tomorrow is the start of something freshly unpleasant. He didn't plan on telling Toris about it until after the fact, so that he wouldn't worry when there was nothing he could do. Now he's thinking that it might be better to say something now, because Toris will be even more upset if he finds out later. Besides, Feliks has been keeping silent about too many things lately.  “I know. I want to too, when I feel alright. But if the nurse was explaining it right, I'm going to start feeling very not-alright. Doc wants to put me on chemo and all that shit. It's poison, but he thinks it might help.”

Toris goes stone-like, his hand dropping off to the side, feeling absolutely sick to his stomach with the thought. He's always said, whatever it takes. But he knows what chemo can do to a person. He's heard Tino's horror stories. Slowly, he reaches down and links their fingers together. “I'll be here,” he says very, very softly, because he can't say ‘it'll be alright.’ “I'll be here until I have to go, and the second I'm off work I'll be back. I'll bring you books. I'll do whatever I can, baby. I promise.” He squeezes his hand tight. “I love you so much.”

“I know. I love you too,” Feliks repeats, because it is the one thing he is certain of anymore. Their hands stay locked together as they curl inward, as close as they can get. He cannot imagine going through this without Toris. He's been sick for years, but now it's morphed into something more than a virus in his veins. It's his cells themselves now, mutating on him. If he can't trust his own body, then he will have to put all his faith into his spirit, and into his boyfriend. “We'll be okay, Tori. Someday.”

Toris smiles, nodding just a little because he is afraid to think of what ‘someday’ means. Afraid to even consider anything beyond this moment. “I'm okay. As long as I'm with you.”

XXX

The hour is sometime past midnight. Ivan is probably wondering where the hell he is. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now, in this moment of teenage post-orgasmic bliss. Kaoru is just what the doctor ordered; hot, bad, and to Raivis’ inexperienced standards, a spectacular lay. The perfect distraction. Tonight they’d tested the front passenger side of Kaoru’s sexy-ass coup and found it cramped, but good enough for now. Sadly, like most good things, distractions cannot last forever. With one last kiss, Raivis bids his boyfriend farewell and walks the rest of the way home, feeling lighter than air.

Eduard is up late as well, pretending he's studying even though he finished hours ago. Mostly he's been sitting here wondering what the hell happened to Raivis. He's always back late from these adventures, but every time Eddie can't help wondering if he's dead, or hurt, or if that bastard Kaoru has run off with him or broken his heart. He'd prefer the later. Not because he wants to see Raivis hurt, but because the sooner this ends, the less hurt Raivis will be.

Ivan is out, thank God, on "business" somewhere. It's just Bella running the bar, with a few trusted lackeys to keep an eye on things. Eduard could hang out downstairs with Bella to pass the time, but he can't stand the noise. It's never been his scene. He sighs, finally turning a page he hasn't been reading for the last fifteen minutes.

Raivis slips through the back storage area, easing into the bar with one eye over his shoulder. Ivan has a habit of being exactly where you don't want him. Slightly scared that he actually _is_ waiting for him, Raivis grabs a can of soda from one of the stock shelves and pops it, stowing his jacket behind a crate. He'll act like he got home ages ago. But when he comes in, sipping his soda, he finds his worries are unfounded. Ivan is not at the bar.

He heads up the stairs, pausing at the door, almost afraid to open it. If Ivan’s not waiting, he knows someone else is.  Someone he almost dreads facing, far more than Ivan. Swallowing half his can of soda, he breathes out a sigh and pushes open the door. Inside, he finds Eduard. He has his head in the same goddamn book, like he never noticed Raivis was gone. Fine, whatever. He moves toward the kitchen of their little apartment and grabs a glass for the soda.

Eduard is glad to see Raivis home safe, but the sight makes his temper flair. Coming home now when he's been worrying all night and acting like it's no big deal? He slams the book shut. “Well?”

Raivis jumps at the noise, the passive show of Eddie’s anger. Then he rolls his eyes, opening the freezer for some ice. Typical. Just typical Eduard to get so pissed off over Raivis having a life that didn't revolve around him. “Oh, I had fun. How was _your_ night?”

Eduard glares, pushing his glasses up his nose. They always seem to be slipping down. It's like his ears are too far forward. “I spent it covering for _you_. _‘Raivis is with the Karpusis, trying to help them through the loss of their big brother. Why aren't I there? Oh, I have to study. Raivis is done his work. Raivis is good friends with the Karpusis. Raivis just wants to help, and I'm too busy.’_ GOD!” he shouts, throwing up his hands. “I can't keep coming up with this shit! You barely know them, and I feel so guilty using _that_ as your excuse.”

Guilt and teenage selfishness smack together in Raivis’ nerves, and for a moment he's not sure whether he's going to yell or cry. But it's _Eddie_ scolding him, and that makes it even worse, to the point where he just wants to leave. Get out. Call Kaoru and ask if he's got room for one more in his bed tonight. “You don't have to cover for me, then. I'll make up my own damn lies.” He growls it, pissed off because here he thought he was having a really good night. “Or better yet, I'll tell him the truth. I'm seeing somebody. I'm fifteen. It's not a crime.”

“I'm sure _that_ will go well.” It's not so much the seeing someone that's a problem. Ivan _flipped_ when he caught Eddie kissing his best friend Emil a few years ago, but not in the way he expected. He'd been...excited. Invited Emil for dinner. Sleep overs. To go on 'family' outings with them. It was just _weird_. That was half the reason Emil didn't come around so much anymore, even though Ivan asked after him. Often. Eduard is still waiting for the day he comes home to find his ex-something unconscious in his bed, courtesy of Mr. Braginski.

Kaoru is a different story. He has a reputation, made worse by the fact that his uncle's been sending Ivan rather threatening messages regarding his territory. Eddie sighs. “Don't do that. Even I don't want to see the asshole's brains on Ivan's pipe.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Raivis whips around to give Eduard a look that is all anger and hopefully none of the secret cheer he feels. Dear God, why does he still feel it? Kaoru's _perfect_ for fuck's sake! He has to get over this stupid... thing! “Did you just call him an asshole? That's my _boyfriend_ you're talking about, okay? If you have a problem with him, keep it to yourself! I kept all my thoughts on fucking _Emi_ to myself, didn't I?”

Eduard almost smirks. Sure, Raivis had kept his thoughts to himself, but he made it perfectly clear what they were. Cut Emi off, locked him out, 'accidentally' hit him with his bag, talked to Eddie loudly and completely ignored Emil...thoughts to himself indeed. It was kind of cute, in retrospect. But he shouldn't see it that way. He should see it as any real big brother would - annoying. “Shall I shut my mouth and elbow Kaoru every time I see him then?” That, of course, is a good way to ask for a broken nose.

Raivis’ eyes narrow and he takes his drink in hand, turning his back. “Sure. I'd like to see that one.” He laughs ruthlessly, reaching up to the cabinet to pull out Doritos (his dinner for the evening). “You know what? I hope you're real happy with Emi. Because I'm _ecstatic_ , and I'm with a _great guy_ and we're having _great sex_ , which is probably more than you can say.” He smacks the cabinet closed.

Eddie stiffens. Raivis knows perfectly well he and Emi are just friends these days. He also knows that they never got very far. They were both afraid to try much more than a handjob. Eddie because he didn't think he'd be any good; Emil because of the situation with his own big brother. All Eduard could really get out of him on that subject was that he didn't want either of them to get hurt.

The thought makes him glower. Kaoru had _better_ not be hurting Raivis. He might not be tough, but Ivan taught them both to defend themselves. If it comes down to it, Eduard will defend his (step)brother with everything he has. “Sex isn't a relationship. I'd tell you to go over to the Rainbow if sex was all you wanted, but they don't take anyone who _isn't even eighteen yet_.”

’ _Hah,’_ thinks Raivis _._ ‘ _There. That got him_.’ He can’t help the greedy feeling of triumph that slides through him. Suppressing a grin, he turns around and sips his soda. “Sex is sex. A relationship sometimes involves sex. You should try it sometime - the sex. It's more fun when computers aren't involved. And less sad.”

With that last jab, Raivis snatches the Doritos from the counter and heads to his room, feeling invincible, like he's just done something impossible. But his stomach churns with the inevitable reminder that he’s just had _another_ fight with Eddie. He swallows hard, trying to force it away so that he can actually feel _good_ , instead of just invincible.

“FUCK YOU!” Eduard screams. He throws a textbook after him. It hits the door with a loud, angry crack, but the sound isn't at all satisfying. It's not fair.  “I don't need sex! A computer's more likely to get me the FUCK out of here!” But that's not true. It doesn't matter how good his grades are, how easy it is for him to fiddle with technology. They're never getting out. They owe Ivan their very lives. Chances are good that once he graduates, Eddie will be working for Ivan. Who has time for sex?

Part of Raivis feels like it’s dropping through him. This is stupid. It's _stupid_. He's with Kaoru, they're supposed to be together, and yet the minute Eduard gets pissed at him he could care less about anything else. He's about a second away from calling Kaoru and breaking it off, but if he doesn't have this, what will he have? An impossible crush on a boy who isn’t exactly his brother, and doesn't even _think_ about sex? Who just wants to _leave_? “Fuck.” He curses under his breath, dropping down on his bed and trying to remember why he felt so good before.


	9. The Lotus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Italian brothers begin a night at The Lotus, scouting for information on Gilbert's murder. Their bodyguard, Antonio, spends his evening getting close to Francis instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've been asking about them, so at long last we introduce the Vargas brothers! You may notice Feliciano/N. Italy is a little OC. And by a little, we mean homicidal. But you'll see more of that later on.
> 
> A note on names: **Sesel = Seychelles**  
>  **The Dragon** = A nickname for **Yao Wang/China**
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

The Lotus is Yao Wang's club; a pulsing, thriving place by the edge of the district. It serves as the legitimate side of his business, though the man himself is not often in residence. Despite its legal front, it is a popular place for illicit encounters, completed under the cover of black lights and music. The dealers make easy business with club-goers who are looking to make a good night fly, and the whores do even better.

Tonight Francis and Sesel are there, dressed to entice and promoting the Rainbow. It's the first time Francis has been out in a week, and he had to _beg_ Liza to let him go. He's still sore from the attack and feeling ill from the withdrawal, but staying in his room made him brood. Brooding meant he was also thinking, and he doesn’t like the places his mind has been wandering. He’s determined to keep his promise to Kiku and remain sober, so he will distract himself in other ways. Francis can still dance with a broken wrist and a few bruises.

At another entrance to the club, a very different set are preparing for their night. The Vargas brothers, Lovino and Feliciano, like to mix business and pleasure. With any luck they will be able to catch a worthwhile rumor, spot a debtor, or ensnare a new ‘associate.’ They are in the business of making deals with the desperate and, in this city, there is _always_ someone desperate.

The Italians do not often travel alone. Antonio, Lovino’s bodyguard, is a familiar presence, but tonight they have Sadik with them as well. They’re keeping an eye on him; the police cleared him of Gilbert’s murder for now, but that does little to increase their confidence in the thug. Who can trust a mask?

“Would you just shut _up_ about your fucking hair? God, it's not like I pulled it out,” says Toni. Lovi's been sassing about how messy Toni made his hair during the quickie they had on the way over. In a minute he may strangle the kid. But when he spots Francis in the distance, the argument no longer matters. He grins, trying to calculate a way to slip over to the bar.

“Your hair looks good Lovi! You shouldn’t be so mean to Toni, not when he’s keeping us safe.” Feliciano catches his brother around the shoulders before he can keep arguing with his bodyguard/sometimes-lover. The night is young and they always have a good time at the club. Mr. Wang is no friend of theirs, but he's got no reason to harm them. Then again, with what happened to Gilbert they need to be careful.

Lovi scowls and brushes him off. “So what? Look at him - eyes already wandering after that fucking _whore_!”

“Hey!” Toni glares at him, his temper already flaring. He curls his fists and steps back to keep from laying hands on his employer - and not in a good way. “You fuckin' call him that again, and I'll show you a whore. I'll _make_ you a whore.” No one says an unkind word about Francis. Not to Toni. Not even Lovino.

Lovi shoves him hard. “You wanna _try_? See what happens to you! Besides, it's not like it isn't true.”

The Spaniard catches Lovi by the shirt, drawing him up and growling into his face. There's fire between them, and sometimes it only takes a little spark to start a fight (or something else). “Don't think I'm scared of you, Lovi. Never have been, never will be.” His eyes fall to the man's lips. How they always slide from hate to lust is beyond him.

Sadik rolls his eyes. Only Toni can say something like that to Lovino Vargas without losing a limb. And only Lovi can badmouth Francis without getting any bones broken. They're quite the pair. He's just glad to be here, instead of alone in a jail cell. That business with Hera and the Beilschmidts was bad for him. He knows the reason the Italians are keeping him around is to make sure he’s not playing them. He scans the room. Wang isn't around tonight; that, at least, is good news. They don't need a confrontation right now.

“That's enough. Unless you want a real big smile, you'll let go and behave.” Feliciano grins, cocking his head to the side. He doesn't like how rough Toni gets with his brother, when Toni's supposed to be the body guard. “It's party night! Have a good time. If you want to see Francis, he's right over there. We're going to dance!” He grabs Lovi before there can be any protests and drags him to the bar. Drinks before dancing. Lovi's more fun when he's a little tipsy.

Watching Lovi get drawn away makes Toni want to pull him right back. Kid is sexy when he's that pissed off. But Feli mentions Frannie, and he has to grin, heading toward the opposite end of the bar.

Sesel’s eyes scan the club, looking for viable customers. Over there John is dancing with Jane. They're always fun. Maybe she can slide in there. And there's Jon buying drinks for his buddies. And Juan, making eyes at her from the dance floor. Ew. Anyone but Juan tonight. “Frannie, baby, do me a favor? Tell me what you think Jon's buddies have in their wallet tonight?” Francis can spot money from a mile away. If he says they have enough for her, maybe she'll go make some new friends.

Francis follows her nod, narrowing his eyes. There's a baggie in Jon's hand. Candy, by the looks. Well, the Dragon's kind of candy. He shakes his head. “They've already got their party for the night. He can't hold his drink anyway.”

John and Jane it is. But before Sesel can freshen her lipstick, a welcome sight approaches the bar. She loves flirting with Toni. Everybody knows he's all about Francis, but he treats them all so sweetly.

“So this is where the heavenly bodies hang out?” Toni grins.

“Toni!” Sesel leans over, kissing his cheek and pressing her chest to his for an over-long moment. “It's been a while!”

“Too long, hermosa.” He kisses her cheek, sliding between the two lovely creatures and dropping his arms around both of them. He leans over to plant his lips on Frannie's cheek as well, staying there just a little longer than he did with Sesel. “Drinks? Yo, Bartender! Margaritas! Hurry up!”

Francis smiles. He loves it when Toni comes to the club, it's always far more pleasant than dealing with strange hands all over him. “And where are your boys?”

“Dancing,” Toni says, his tone slightly harder than it was. When Francis is in his arms, he does _not_ want to think about Lovi. He recovers himself quickly and leans over to tug Sesel's pigtail. “All the better for me. Te ves bien, Sessie. That dress could make a grown man cry.”

Sesel smirks, her hand sliding up the buttons of Toni's shirt, tempting him. “That's the goal. You look good yourself, Toni.” It's a lost cause. Everyone knows there is only one, maybe two people in the world that could truly win Toni the Spaniard, and neither of them have breasts. “I'll go grab the drinks,” she offers, sliding away so that Frannie can make his play. He deserves a little happiness after the nightmares of the past few weeks. Even if Gilbert was a bastard; she’d seen the aftermath of his visits enough times to know that ‘rough’ was a serious understatement. That did not change or cheapen the way Francis felt.

Francis smirks, not at all worried by Sesel's flirting - or anyone else's, for that matter. He knows Toni's got a thing for Lovino, but it's the kind of relationship based in power and violence. He lets his hand wander over Toni's leg, leaning in close even though he's looking at a different gentleman - Jack, if he recalls correctly. He needs to keep up appearances, after all, and at least pretend to look for other customers. “It _is_ good to see you.”

“It's good to see you too, cuchura,” Antonio says, letting his hand slide up Francis’ thigh as he presses closer to whisper in his ear. “Tu me vuelves loca, Frannie. Quiero hacerte l'amor. Se mio esta noche. Te necesito...” He murmurs the sweet words into his ear, using the proximity to nip at it fondly, knowing exactly how his Spanish can affect the man. He's already moaning. “Necesito que seas mio...” [1, 2, 3]

Francis practically melts against him. He can't help it; Toni has sparked something in him since the moment they met. Frannie has a habit of falling hard and fast, but this one is something special. He tilts his head, letting Toni taste his neck. “I love the sound of your voice, mon amour. Your accent, your taste, every part of you.” God, Spanish. He always thought his French was supposed to be the language of romance. But on Toni's lips, Spanish is all he wants to hear.

Oh, Francis is in his arms, making him grin. He could have this man anywhere, any time, and it would be the best fuck of his life all over again. He wants to seduce him tonight, wants to make him _want_ sex, so badly that he begs for it and means it. Toni kisses his neck, biting it, his hand dipping between Frannie's thighs to wake the hardness already there. “I love the feel of you. I want to make you come right here, just listening to me.”

Francis squirms in the seat, wanting very much to do just that. However, this is work, and Bernie's given him rules. “Toni...oh, I want to. But you know I must be careful.” He picks up Toni’s hand and stands instead, pulling the man with him. “Dance with me.”

Toni grins anyway, tugging Frannie to his body and pressing his lips against his ear. “I'll pay twice as much to cuddle with you. We can cuddle, right? I just can't let you come,” he teases, his hand sliding low down Francis’ back as he grinds with him.

Together they sway to the music, and Francis reaches back to caress Toni's arm. The song has a low, sexy tone and a smooth beat. It suits Toni, it suits their mood. “For you, my darling, cuddling is free. Maybe a little more if you're a good boy. But what about _your_ boss?” He scans the crowd for Lovi, and finds him and Feliciano dancing with several very pretty girls. Sadik is watching from the shadows, arms crossed. It makes him laugh.

Toni breathes out against his ear, low and sultry. “I don't give a fuck about anyone but you. You know that, right?” His lips press against that golden skin for a second before he whispers, “I want to pay you for the chance to suck your cock, until you're a breath away from coming. Then pull away and rub myself off while you watch. Is that against the rules?”

Francis groans, squeezing Toni's arm. “No. But I would not want you to lose your job.” He half turns, giving his lover a quick kiss and a smirk. “How else will you afford the things I'm going to do to you after that?”

Toni's not worried about losing his job. First off, Lovi would sooner kill him than fire him. Second, everyone knows he's damn good at his job - even if his loyalties are based in self-preservation. He laughs and spins Frannie against him, wrapping his arms around him so that he can move against his body. “I can always become a whore. Liza always said she'd kill to have me.”

Francis chuckles, goosing him fast before his hands return to more innocent places. “You would be a terrible prostitute. The sex you do very well; but you would not like sharing so much. Nor do you _ever_ do as you’re told.”

“Mmm...” Toni gooses him back, slower, rubbing his hand over the place in a naughty caress. “Then maybe I'll guard the Rainbow. Kick out any man who gets rough with you. I'd love to see how they'd pay me.”

“You are very sweet, cheri,” Francis says, resting against Toni’s shoulder as they dance. For a moment he closes his eyes, enjoying the rock of their hips, the scent of his lover, the feel of his arms. It's like being safe at home, wrapped in a blanket. A very sexy Spanish blanket. He opens his eyes and searches over Toni's shoulder, trying to remind himself that he's working and he cannot dance with Toni all night.

Toni sighs, sensing Frannie's thoughts. His fingers move to caress his back. “Don't make me call Liza and tell her that I'm buying you for the night. I will. I miss you, caramio.” He purrs the name, dancing with a slow sway of his hips that could hypnotize lesser mortals.

“You were with me last week,” Francis protests. Though that is hardly fair, seeing as he barely remembers last week, or the week before. It's all a drug-induced haze, full of faces and acts that blur together like a nightmare. “But we will have tonight, now that things are better. I will take you back to my room, and we...” Just as his eyes start to slide back to Toni's, he catches a man staring at him. A large man with thick, rough hands wrapped around a beer. He stops dancing and buries his face in Toni's neck.

Toni stops too, feeling Frannie stiffen like he can't breathe. He turns his head to see where he was looking and he finds a man. He's large, with big hands and a nasty look in his eye. The Spaniard’s fists curl, and he hugs Frannie to his body protectively. “Who is that?”

Francis shakes his head. It's like his throat has closed up, someone choking the breath from him, wrapping wire around his throat and pulling tight, tighter...he gasps, cold despite the heat of the bodies around him. His memory is flawed from that night, but even in its fits and starts he knows who that is. “Where's Sesel? I want to leave.”

“Wait-” But Francis is rushing for the door, grabbing hold of Sesel's arm and taking her with him. Toni’s eyes travel back to the man and he slowly takes stock of his appearance. Big. Mean. He looks like a bruiser, someone no one would mess with. But there's a reason people don't mess with Toni, either. _The bigger they are, the harder they fall_ , he decides, looking across the club to where Frannie is fleeing. His fists curl. He will not let the man out of his sight for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - sweetie
> 
> 2 - You drive me crazy, Frannie. I want to make love to you. Be mine tonight. I need you...
> 
> 3 - I need you to be mine.


	10. La Citta Fortunata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig attempts to keep business running smoothly even as he deals with the loss of his family. Feliciano helps in his own (very bloody) way, while Lovino and Antonio fall into their usual argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy pasta, Batman, it's a new chapter! Thank you so much to our reviewers, we absolutely love hearing from you. You'll get to see the entire casino family in this chapter, and discover why it's a bad idea to mess with the Italians.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

The idiot is wearing a red tie, which does not go with his brown suit. His cuff is unbuttoned on one sleeve, and his hair is such a mess it makes Ludwig twitch. The man looks ridiculous, which is probably how he almost got away with scamming the casino out of fifty grand.

Slowly, Ludwig Bielschmidt, otherwise known as Der Reiniger – the Cleaner, leans over the table. “You will button your sleeve,” he growls, his fists clenching the metal tabletop, “you will give me back the fifty grand you FLEECED out of this casino, and you will TELL ME who you're working with. _NOW_.”

The idiot laughs and buttons up his cuff, which makes Ludwig feel a little better. But then he keeps on laughing without telling him what he wants to know. Ludwig grasps that red tie and _yank_ s the man’s head into the table, cracking it against the metal. Even that doesn’t seem to help.  The man simply shakes it off and grins at him, spouting some crap about honor among thieves.

Cursing again, Ludwig continues his work, torturing, threatening, yanking out his gun and demanding. Still the man is fearless. Dammit. He doesn’t want to have to do this; he is tired of cleaning up bodies. He thought he could _save_ this little rat. But it appears he has no choice.

“You will tell me what I need to know,” he warns in a low, grave tone, “or I will call the Vargas brothers.”

The stupid man chuckles to himself. The Vargas brothers? Those little pieces of fluff that float around town in friggin' stretch limos, like they’re too princely to walk? After all the abuse, he'd expected something a little scarier. Spitting blood, he grins at Der Reiniger and remains utterly silent.

One floor below, said Italians are just returning from their night out at the club.  In Feliciano’s opinion, the night was a fantastic success. There had been lots of pretty boys and girls to play with, even after poor Frannie and Sesel left. There were even more people to entice for a game of chance. Feli smirks at the thought; he and his brother always win.

The Vargas family used to win more when the casino was in its glory days, and solidly in the hands of their family. But ever since their grandfather Roma died, the Beilschmidts have technically owned La Citta. It got worse when they lost the horse track about four years back. Now they make most of their money solving "problems" - and if you don't pay up, you _become_ a problem.

Lovino shakes his head. In his opinion, the party was stupid. Not enough people for them to con. Not enough intimidation. Worst of all, his stupid fucking bodyguard just disappeared on them. “ _Damn_ Toni,” he mutters, as he has for most of the night. “Who needs that idiot anyway? We’ve got Saddy. Never mind that he was arrested a couple weeks back for killing Gil, Hans, and Hera.”

Feli waves his hands in protest. “Don’t say things like that! Sadik was released, so he…didn’t do it for certain.” He lowers his voice, glancing back the way they came. They left Sadik to watch the back door. “We’ve got eyes on him anyway, so we weren’t really alone.”

Lovi rolls his eyes. “Of course not. And the Dragon had eyes on us all night long, so we come full circle. I’m only saying Gil’s dead, and I don’t want to be next.”

His brother grins. “That, and you don’t like to see Toni running after Francis instead of you.”

“Shut up!”

The moment they step into the next hall, they can hear Ludwig's had different sort of night. He's already yelling at some fool, his big, deep voice coming through the reinforced steel of one of their rooms for extra-special guests. The walls are nice and thick, and easy to clean. The brothers share a glance. “Think Luddy needs some help?” asks Lovi.

Feli knocks once, just to be sure they aren’t coming in at a bad time. “Lu-ddy! Can Lovi and I come in and play? Lovi didn't have a good time at the party.”

Ludwig sighs, pressing his hands to his temples and finally turning away from the idiot to look toward the door. Damn. His eyes squeeze shut and sighs again. “Ja, ja. I will leave you to it. Ah...” He looks toward the man, shaking his head. “Please, this time, a little less blood?”

Lovi laughs and shoves his way into the room. “You have to be kidding me! You'll have your answers and be grateful you got them.”

“That's not very nice, Lovino.” Feliciano frowns. Their guest is already bloody and bruised. It looks like his nose is broken, but the jaw, thankfully, is working fine. Feli's had to have words with Luddy before about breaking jaws when interrogating people.

He steps over to the man, slowly pulling off the man’s tie and undoing the first buttons of his shirt. It's a nice shirt. No need to get it really dirty. “Luddy, you've made such a mess already! Poor thing, he didn't deserve all that!” Feli tosses his shirt to Ludwig, smiling now and bobbing his head as he sing-songs: “Luddy's mean, mean Luddy, mean Luddy!”

Ludwig groans softly, and not just at the stupid song - which will probably be sung all week for his benefit. Watching Feliciano pull off that idiot's shirt and tie has his pants feeling a little tight. He's always had a thing for watching, and Feli knows it. It's probably why he's being so... Forward.

“I'll just...” He rubs his face, trying to snap out of it. He's in _mourning_ for fuck's sake. He shouldn't be thinking about sex. In fact, he shouldn't be thinking about anything.

He leaves fast, bypassing them both and heading to VIP lounge where Toni is playing cards with a couple of very cute young - probably _very_ young - boys, making them giggle. His heart isn't in it, but one must keep up appearances, even if they are bad ones. He slides in next to the cute blonde one and smiles at him stiffly. “What're we playing?”

The boy blinks up at Big Strong Hot Blonde Guy with doe eyes that make him look absolutely adorable, and he knows it. “I don't know. He hasn't told us.”

Toni shuffles the cards and grins sharklike at the brunette sitting next to him, opposite Ludwig. He arrived back an hour ago, after he finally lost track of the bastard who hurt Frannie. There was never a good opportunity to take him out; the man always had friends with him, or somewhere to go. When Toni does get a hold of him, he wants to take his time. Maybe he should have gone back to find Lovi at the club, but he figured it was a bit late for that.

“We caught these two with fake IDs downstairs,” he explains to Ludwig. “I figure, if they can beat me at cards, we should give 'em a free pass.” His hand trails low, dragging over the brunette's hip.

Ludwig almost rolls his eyes. The only people who beat Toni at cards are the ones he _wants_ to beat him. These cute little things are being set up, and enjoying every minute of it. “Fair enough. Deal me in.” He tries on a looser smile, which seems to be particularly effective on the blonde, who is close to crawling in his lap anyway. What is it with these ripe little things? He never asks for them - they _come_ to him, like he has some sort of cute little boy pheromone. Hell, Feli just walked up to him in the casino one day and kissed him senseless, and he's been here ever since. “So why on _earth_ would you two want to sneak in here? Does it look that exciting from the outside?”

The brunette boy hums, stretching his arms out and relaxing into the booth, careful to make sure every point of his side lines up against Toni's. “It _is_ exciting. I mean, look! We're being held hostage by gorgeous men.”

The blonde giggles, skimming his fingers up to lock with Ludwig's. “What more could we ask for? I'd say we're getting off easy.”

Ludwig shakes the hand loose, looking back from whence he came. God, that poor soul. Shuddering, he relents to allow the blonde a place against his side. “Ah - I don't think that's...”

Toni grins even wider, though it's more of a predatory grin. His mind is other places. He should check on Frannie; every time he thinks of the way Frannie was shaking in his arms, it makes his blood boil. He called when he got back, but Sesel answered. She said that she and Kiku were looking after him, but Toni still feels like he needs to go over. Once he's done eating these cupcakes for breakfast. “What he means is, you're not getting 'off' until we do. Right, Luddy?”

Ludwig blushes a little as the boys laugh. He accepts his cards and tries to put a little distance between himself and this blonde piece of flypaper. “Ah...”

“Oh. Plans. Right.” Toni smirks, leaning down to tap the brunette's nose before reaching for the blonde. “Guess it's just me, boys. Hope you don't mind.”

The blonde smirks back coyly, sliding onto Luddy's lap as though he's moving to get out of the booth. But he stays there, staking a claim, sitting in just the right place to tease. “Oops. I guess I'm stuck. Looks like you won't be going anywhere.” He grins, using all his charm.

Ludwig resists the urge to roll his eyes. He drops his hand and pushes the boy off, sliding over to sit where he was. “I really do have plans.” _'You are an absolute idiot, Toni,'_ he wants to snap at him. But he can't, because they're both grieving, and when you're grieving you do stupid shit. Like bring home jailbait and try to pawn it off on your superiors.

Even through three doors and down a long hallway, they hear a man _shrieking_. “I SWEAR! I swear that's all I know! PLEASE!”

Luddy winces, slowly sliding out of the booth and rubbing a hand over his temple. “Excuse me.” He hurries out of their lounge and back to the side hallway. At the door, he waits a moment before knocking very lightly, clearing his throat. “Finished?”

The door slides open, revealing a giggling Feliciano. He sometimes wishes people would get in trouble more often, just so he could play with them. He always likes to make their guests happy in the end. Everyone should go out with a smile! “All done! Our money's still safely stowed at an apartment. We'll send someone over. He was working for that stupid little boss who thinks he can play with us.”

Lovino holds up a fist full of fingernails. “We're sending him these. A little present for our amico!”

Ludwig marvels at the handiwork, and of course at Feli, who looks happier than he's seen him in weeks. Their ‘guest’ is a bloody mess, but still alive. He looks like he's ready for someone to just shoot him. Ah well. Whatever makes Feli happy, he will see to. As long as it doesn't involve getting blood on his suit. “I think he'll enjoy them.” Ludwig smiles, and this time it's not tight, not stiff. It's real. It's good to see them so happy. “Should I call for dinner?”

“PASTAAAA!” Feli claps his hands. “Hooray!”

They walk back down the hall and enter the VIP room, heading for their private lounge. It’s a suite within a suite, a room with reinforced, bullet-proof walls and bolts on the door, and plenty of hidden routes outside and up to their apartments. It’s a comfortable place – well, comfortable if you’re a Vargas or a Beilschmidt, or one their current list of friends. Even those friends shouldn’t get _too_ comfortable.

The moment they walk in Lovino catches sight of his bodyguard-lover-thing toying with not one but _two_ boys. Damnit. He was feeling so much better, and now...well. At least he has a few idiots to take it out on.

“YOU BASTARD!” He stomps over to the table, fist still filled with bloody fingernails and his other hand clutching one of his favorite knives. “I spend the night working, you fucking up and _leave,_ and I find you here toying with these little PUTTANE?!” [1]

The boys shriek in unison, cowering around Toni like he's their only hope for survival. Toni drops his arms around the boys and pulls them into his arms. “Chill out, Lovi.” He rolls his eyes, smirking just a little at the way he looks, all irate, stomping and yelling, covered in blood... His eyes pop wide open. Oh Dear Sweet Jesus, since when does he find that shit attractive? That's so sick. God, he needs therapy. “I told you I had something to take care of. Got done a little early, found these boys downstairs and thought we could give ‘em a break. We're just playing cards. Hey.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You can join us if you want. Now, or later.”

Lovi dumps the nails on the table, right across the cards. “There's my wager.” He grabs the blonde by the hair, dragging him out of the booth and putting the knife against his neck. “Here's yours. You still want to play with me, you little shit?” He spits it into the boy's ear.

“OhMyGod, OHMYGOD!” The boy’s screaming, practically weeping, begging for his life. “Please, please don't hurt me! OhMyGod, I wasn't even _INTO_ him! I swear! Oh My God!”

Toni rolls his eyes, releasing the cowering brunette to slide over to Lovi. “Don't be such a brat.” He thwacks him hard upside the head and takes the knife away, grabbing the blonde by the back of his shirt and tossing him away too. “You're just jealous. Admit it. Hey, if you want me, you might as well say so.”

Lovi scowls and shoves Toni hard, knocking him into the table. “You only fuck whores. And only Gilbert fucked you. Everybody knows that.” Except that sometimes he and Toni had sex too, like on the way over to the club. But that was hardly the point.

Toni rolls his eyes, watching the boys flee with no little disappointment. “Maybe if you told me you want me, I'd fuck you more often.” He laughs callously, reaching out and stealing Lovi’s bloody hand, yanking him on the table beneath him. “I'm not the type to waste a convenient ass.”

“Funny,” growls the Italian, “you happen to be a most inconvenient ass.” He's got his knife back, and holds it under Toni's chin. “Some body guard. Where the fuck were you tonight?”

Toni laughs at the knife, almost kinda into it. He's not sure why. Probably another thing that makes him sick. “Like you needed a bodyguard in there. The guy was a worm. It is ‘was,’ right?” His hand slides up to grip Lovino's chin, dragging him up for a kiss that presses the knife urgently against his skin. But the kiss is too good. They kiss _damn_ good together. Almost as good as he and Frannie do.

Kissing isn't fair, in Lovi’s opinion. Stupid sexy bastard. He should stab through his throat and be done with it. But he can't, because of all the people in the world he likes this one best, second to Feliciano. And Hans. If he ever finds out who did in the old man, he's going to rip out their guts and feed them to the dogs. He pulls away. “It's ‘is.’ Might need him. And I meant at the party, stupid. I kept getting groped!”

Toni offers his shaky grin again, splaying him out on the table and reaching back to squeeze his ass. “Serves you right. Your ass is too fine not to grope. Convenient _and_ fine. Want me to kiss it better?”

Lovi flips him off. It's his own special brand of "fuck you," because he's missing the middle finger of his right hand. It was once sent to his grandfather, the late Roma Vargas, as a present. He likes taking fingernails much better. It's more painful, in many ways, because the process takes so much longer.

Toni smirks just a little, inclining his head and raising his eyebrows in challenge. But here is not the place. “C'mon.” He slides off the table, taking that ever-marred hand and dragging him up to the office, where there is a couch they've utilized many a time.

Ludwig smiles, steering Feli clear of the scene and taking him down the back staircase, through the kitchen, and back up another set of stairs hidden behind a cupboard. Their living quarters have been kept in utmost secrecy. His hand squeezes Feli’s hip, ignoring the fact that his clothes are drenched in blood - at least, he’s trying to. “What kind of pasta do you want, Feli?”

Feliciano’s smile goes lecherous, but he keeps his hands to himself. He has to wash off first, or Ludwig will not do anything with him at all. “Mm, the big, thick kind. With some wurst and alfredo sauce.”

“Strange combination.” Ludwig laughs a little, letting go to move behind him, wandering up the stairs close to his back. He can't help it. Can't even wait. His hands slide up to cover Feli's eyes, and he presses completely against his back, whispering low and throaty in his ear. “Now, two more steps, and you can open the door. But I want you to close your eyes and keep them closed, verstehen?” [2]

Feli grins. It _must_ be a good surprise if Luddy is willing to risk getting blood on his clothes. “Okey dokey Luddy!” He hopes it's a nice surprise anyway. Luddy has been so sad since his big brother died. Feli understands; he'd be very upset if Lovino died too! And he is sad about Gilbert, who was entertaining and loud and fun. But life moves on. It always does. He's lost his parents (though not to death), his grandfather, and now Gilbert and Hans too. Hans was like his hero. That terrifying time when Lovi lost his finger and he lost his mind (so they say), in the end Hans was the one to ride in like a bloody knight, taking heads as he went before carrying them back home. Everything changes, everything passes. They can't sit still for long, or they'll lose what's left.

Ludwig presses his body in tight against his lover’s back. He pushes a hand past Feli to get the door open and walk him inside. There, on their walls, are pictures. Everywhere. Pictures of them, from the lurid to the simple and sweet; from the night they had together in Cancun when Feli blindfolded him and used knives, to the day they went on a picnic and shared a slice of tiramisu.

The biggest takes up the wall above their bed. It’s a picture he'd searched all the tabloid archives to find – the one a young celebrity photographer took one night in the casino, when Ludwig had only been there to do a deal with his grandfather's favorite godsons and wound up falling into the rest of his life. There they were, Feli's arms wrapped tight around his neck, his mouth latched to his, his own eyes popped wide open in shock. Their first kiss. The moment they met.

“It's the anniversary,” he smiles, pulling Feliciano close, trying to remind himself that he has plenty of suits and only one moment like this, “of our first kiss.”

As soon as the hands are off his eyes, Feli is struck utterly speechless. That is a very rare thing indeed. He stares around, from all their various exploits (there were often camera's involved; Luddy liked to watch, he didn't mind showing off), to the simple ones of them cooking pasta. He notes a few pictures that include Gilbert, or others who have been lost, and his throat tightens. But it tightens more at the fact that Ludwig actually remembered. He has to admit, while he's sure to recall their official anniversary and birthdays, this is unexpected. “Luddy...”

Ludwig laughs a little, his heart leaping and his stomach clutching at the reaction. “You sound surprised.” He's glad. He wanted this to be something for them, something to make them feel together. After Gil and his grandfather, he'd been drifting in the darkest water, on the darkest night, with no sign of land. He still is, even now. But he sees the light in the darkness that's been calling for him since that night. He hopes this is a step in the right direction. He wants more than anything to give Feliciano something beautiful, if he can't give him his whole self anymore. “I love you. I wanted you to know. I still do. Always.”

Feli takes Ludwig’s hand and squeezes it, turning to face him. The pictures are wonderful, but not nearly so wonderful as the man himself. He’s gone through all this trouble, even when he's grieving for all that remained of his immediate family. Really, Feli feels he should have been the one doing more for him. He's been trying - cooking, holding him, keeping his distance when it seemed like that's what he wanted. But he can't believe all of this. He can't stay away anymore. He pulls him in and hugs him tight. “Te amo, Luddy! For always.”

Ludwig makes a sound, slightly irked at the way his suit is now matted with blood. There are other suits. He doesn't need this one. “I'm glad.” He smiles, reaching down and taking Feli’s chin to pull him into a heady, delicious kiss - one so good that it makes his toes curl in their boots and his blood simmer with heat. That is, until he feels Feli's hands sliding down to his belt. “Ah- Feli...” His hand shoots up, pressing him away and stepping back.

That kiss was better than their first one, only because Luddy was kissing back freely, pressing into him. Feli had taken that as a sign to send his hands trailing lower, blood quickly heating. But then...Luddy is backing away. That's _not_ the sign he wants. He tries not to pout. “What's the matter?” There are pictures of them making love _everywhere_ , so clearly he cannot have forgotten how.

“I wanted to... Ah...” Luddy looks down, blushing slightly, unsure of how to speak with the way Feli is pouting without pouting. “I wanted to let you know that... that I still love you. But. I don't know if I'm ready.”

He half turns, looking toward one of the photos on their wall. They are sleeping, curled into each other, covered in last night's mess. A little blurry splotch is at the top right, the only sign that there was anyone else in the world at that moment. His brother, who took the picture without them knowing. His fingers reach out, brushing over the frame. “I want to but my heart is broken.”

Seeing Ludwig like that nearly breaks Feli’s heart too. He likes sex a lot, and if he doesn't get to do it with Luddy soon he will probably end up at the Rainbow, or just finding someone to play with at a party. Luddy is the one he really wants, though. He is willing to give him time, give him almost anything. Looking around, he can understand how hard this must have been for Ludwig. A lot of these pictures were taken by Gilbert, and some even include him. He tries to imagine what it would be like if Lovino died. It's a sobering thought.

He wraps his arms around Ludwig, pressing close but only hugging. “Okay Luddy. You can'a tell me when. We can start slow; watch a movie together? One of _our_ movies, with just us.”

Luddy smiles sadly, turning around and wrapping his arms around Feliciano’s waist. His heart wrenches, but he has to offer. He wants Feli happy, and he knows Feli does not go very long without. If he hasn't had sex with someone else already, it's a miracle. But the thought of it is more unsettling than leaving the Vargas brothers alone in a room with a couple card counters and a box of knives. “I thought, maybe, you would want... I...” He sighs, reaching up and sliding a hand over his cheek. “I called Rainbow's, and Roderick is waiting downstairs. I know how much you miss it.” He swallows, his stomach twisting. “I don't mind.”

Feli shakes his head, nuzzling against Luddy's neck. He always smells good. Like wood and beer, and something sweet that is unique to him. Sometimes he wants to bottle up that smell and put it everywhere. He wouldn't sell it; it would make millions, he's sure, but he's much too selfish. He wants Ludwig all to himself. Especially right now. “No, Luddy. It's our kiss-iversary, si? I want to stay with you. We can kiss, right? You can even tie my hands so I don't get too tempted!”

Butterflies erupt inside. Ludwig takes his chin and pulls him into a heavy, easy kiss, slowly dragging him toward their bed. “Kissing is alright. So is a little more than kissing. Just a little.” His mind agrees with the vagueness of that statement completely. Just a little. As long as there's more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 – whores (Italian)  
> 2 – understand (German)


	11. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew introduces himself undercover to the drug dealer, Holly, and both of them are startled by their sudden attraction. At the Rainbow, Francis and Arthur share a good time that could prove very enlightening for Francis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! We have something exciting for you - NEW ART! Check it out on tumblr (twoscarypandas DOT tumblr DOT com/tagged/sketch). There will be more of it over the next few weeks, with any luck!
> 
> Warning: Heavy mentions of drugs, some drug use. Very mild, non-explicit sex.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

Arthur had absolutely flipped on Matthew and Alfred after they returned from taking Francis home. Even though they'd sworn it was all in the name of protecting the innocent, Artie was pissed. High, too, Mattie could tell, though he was quite sure Alfred couldn't. It made it difficult to argue with his plan that they split up, after taking a few days to get the layout of the area. Tonight Alfred is at Vodka Now! checking out the Braginskis and their crowd, while Arthur is at the brothel 'asking some questions'. Matthew has a feeling one of those questions will be ‘ _How much?_ ’

He himself is not far from the Rainbow. He's been walking through a maze of back alleys, keeping a low profile and doing his best to ignore everyone - the homeless, the prostitutes, the nutcases, the thugs lying in wait. It's a good thing he's nearly invisible; forgettable. He's looking for a dealer called Holly, who, according to Artie, knows just about everything that goes on in the district. He can't pose as an addict, he knows an experienced eye will catch his lie instantly. He can, however, pose as a good boy gone bad, looking for a better party.

Holly's been hanging out in front of this Austrian-style cafe a little too much lately, listening to the music and poetry drifting outside. He should probably change his location, but something about it soothes him, makes him feel both at home and alive - the soft whispers instead of loud, thumping music and screams of the club and the casino. The poetry. The music.

_"What's it all about, Alfie?"_ a girl sings, playing a piano. _"Is it just for the moment we live? What's it all about, when you sort it out, Alfie? Are we meant to take more than we give?"_ Stupid or brilliant, he can’t decide. Sometimes he wonders if maybe humans are born to be tempted. Sometimes he wonders if they're just born because everybody needs somebody else.

Mattie rounds a corner, and suddenly the street opens up. There are shops here, and a higher class of customers. At the least, they've had showers within the past week. There's a man outside one of the cafes, and he instantly knows this is the one: blonde, spiked hair, a long brown coat, a scarf striped blue-and-white, and an air about him that says he's seen it all. He walks over and leans against the wall next to his table “You're Holly?”

Holly whips around, looking the new presence up and down, assessing, cataloging, trying to figure out which category he fits into. Good boy gone bad? Maybe. But those are some eyes for a good boy. “I don't know. Am I?”

He managed to surprise him. It seems to Mattie that such a thing might be counted in his favor. He tries to adopt a 'bored-with-the-world-look', and assesses him again. “Maybe not. It isn't Christmas, and that's the only time I've seen holly around.”

Holly‘s lips twitch a little. Smart-aleck. _"And if only fools are kind, Alfie, then I guess it is wise to be cruel..."_ the woman nearly moans her sad realizations from inside the cafe. He isn't sure if he agrees or not. This kid is making him believe it. “Maybe you're looking for the wrong kind of holly.” He sips his coffee. He can only drink coffee at night. Go figure.

Mattie takes a breath. He's got to keep cool, even though it is _really_ hard for him not to stutter. This is a stranger, a dangerous stranger, yet also quite a lovely one. He tries not to blush. “I hear you've got a lot of different kinds.”

Holly lets his smile fall, like it wasn't really there. He sits back slowly and drops his hands behind his head, almost reclining in the chair. “I think you should join me for coffee.”

Mattie nods, taking the seat next to him, not across from him. He's done this before. Never quite like this, but he knows how it works; it's much easier to trade things when you can just slip your hand into the other person's pocket. “Is the coffee here any good?”

“Fair. The music's better.” He slides away a little, somewhat wary. The boy is something different. That makes him nervous. He smells something off, but he's willing to play a little, if only because he always feels something off when he lands a new client. He constantly fears a set-up. “So. ID?”

Mattie raises an eyebrow. “What for? Didn't think you'd like details.” At least, he has never yet met the dealer who did. Plausible deniability; if you don't know their name, haven't seen their face for more than a moment, and they turn up dead of an OD you might not have been involved. Plus, money is money. He pulls a bit of cash from his pocket, as though counting through how much he'll need for a coffee. Granted, this much would get him _several_ cups and a box of donuts.

Holly smiles a little. Most dealers don't, if only to keep themselves out of other people's habits. But he needs them. He needs a grasp on the new ones - mostly so he can find them again if something goes down. He needs to make sure everything's legit, and nobody's got a badge. He's _very_ careful with new blood. “With all due respect, pretty boy, I don't get screwed on the first date.”

“Too bad.” Matthew says it without thinking, and it takes all his will power not to clamp both hands over his mouth. He struggles to keep cool. At least Vosh set them up with regular IDs. He's got a driver's license with a fake last name and a picture of him as a civilian.

_Well_ then. Holly raises an eyebrow. Such cheek from cherubic lips is _very_ enticing. But, that thought should stay slotted for some other moment, some lonely night in his apartment when he has nothing to satisfy him. Maybe this one's a little more interesting than he originally thought. Matthew Kirk. Cute. “Well. Been burned before, you understand.” He returns the ID.

Mattie does understand. Though for him, the burning is usually less about being remembered, and more about being forgotten. It's useful now, but not so pleasant when everyone is cheering for Alfred and calling him a hero when Mattie was with him the _whole_ time, keeping him from doing something stupid. Like going to that party the night before exams, or eating only burgers, or not eating at all when the burgers he did have finally added up, or making a damn stupid show-offy play in baseball, or...well, the list goes on for years and years. “Yeah. Apparently there's a lot of that going around. All I hear is people talking shit about some poor bastards that got shot.”

Holly chuckles. “Poor bastards... not exactly right. Those three may be better off dead these days.” He sips his coffee, watching the boy out of the corner of his eye. Well, that perked him right up. Time to change the subject, see if he tries to reel it back. You can always tell a cop when they get too interested in small-talk. “So. You like flavored coffee? Got a favorite?”

Now they're getting into the real game. Holly appears to be a pro, but for a rookie, Mattie isn't too bad at this part. He's shy, but cool under pressure. It’s clear that Holly knows _something_ , and that's enough for the moment. He can come back later when he's not so suspicious. “Cinnamon. Makes it taste like maple syrup.”

“Breakfast boy.” Holly laughs a little, stowing the information in his own mental file. This one likes a little pick-me up. “I'll have to remember that. So, I guess you want a cup?” He swallows the last of his drink, setting it down. God, this one is too cute. Pretty blue eyes. He didn't realize just how blue they were. “I want another. So. How strong do you like it?”

Mattie's not sure they're talking about coffee anymore. All these dealers use different slang, and sometimes it's hard to keep up. If you get it wrong you could end up with some bad drugs, or looking like an idiot. He shrugs. “Not too strong. Just enough to wake me up.”

Holly smiles a little, pulling out his phone to text Kaoru. The problem with new kids is you really have to keep your distance. This one makes him want to toss distance out the window. After they earn his trust, he can ease up. But right now, even pretty blue eyes can't turn his head from money. “There's a special inside. Go to the coffee bar and talk to my friend Kaoru. Order a pick-me-up. And a black coffee for me.” The kid starts to turn away, but Holly can't help it. This one's interesting.  “Go ahead and bring 'em back to the table. Maybe we got a few things to talk about.”

Mattie allows himself a smile. This is going so much better than he thought. If they actually get a chance to talk, he might be able to work out a little more of what's going on. He stands, heading inside. It's not crowded or empty, and the air is filled with the tones of a piano and a pretty girl singing something sad and 'deep.' A poet's haven. The customers inside are nodding along as though the music touches their souls. He has a feeling that has more to do with what they're smoking than anything else; it’s easy to see why Holly comes here.

There are two people working behind the counter, both Asian. He immediately knows Kaoru though; the name was familiar, and the face is even more so. This is Yao Wang's nephew. Vosh has had eyes on him for a while, but the boy is clever and hard to trace. This may prove a productive evening indeed. “Give me a pick-me-up, please. And a black coffee for my friend.”

Kaoru got the text seconds ago, and he's not at all surprised to see the new customer is cute, blue-eyed, and sweet like syrup. His phone buzzes again and he knows it's Raiv. He's getting tired of answering. Maybe he should get a separate line for work. “Fifteen. Black coffee's on the house.” He hands the boy two capped cups, one with a baggie inside, the other with pills taped to the inside of the lid. His coworker has been paid not to notice how quickly orders come up.

Mattie pays up, keeping it all observation for now. Alfred would already be trying to chat him up, or worse, calling it in to Vosh in front of _everyone_. He'd rather get more information. When does Kaoru work here? How does he come? Is there muscle around to keep things under control? Probably. He takes the cups and heads back out.

Holly's glad to see him come back, though his ass made it no chore to watch him leave. Such a cute little thing, it's no wonder he's gotten himself in trouble. The cute ones so often do. “Taste good?” He asks, reaching for his own cup as Matthew sits down again.

Mattie looks down. There's no coffee in the cup; it's not hot or heavy. He wonders what he just got, and desperately hopes Holly doesn't expect him to take it now. “We'll see.”

Raising an eyebrow, Holly reaches over and pops the cap off the cup, turning it over to show off the selection brazenly as possible. “Yeah. We'll see.” It's a command. They both know it. But the kid looks like he's ready to rabbit. “Show me you're not a cop.”

Mattie is prepared for the question, but that doesn’t stop the hot little knot from forming in his gut when it's actually asked aloud. Still he presses down the nerves, and replaces the lid. “Right. Because I'd do _so_ well chasing down thugs and leaping fences. I'm saving that. My neighbor is having a party.”

That’s a point Holly has to give him. But he's seen worse, been taken down by worse. Fuck, Artie was higher than a kite the first time he brought him in.

“Fine.”  He takes Mattie’s hand, and for a moment there's no air in the world. That just makes him grip harder, his stomach jolting, as he pulls him out of his seat and into the back alley where the performers are exiting. In his own cup is a baggie with a joint in it. He pulls it out, dropping the cup and lighting up. “So give me one good reason,” he takes a drag and closes his eyes, just long enough to enjoy it before letting it out again, “to trust your pretty boy good looks.”

“The same reason I trust you didn't just slip me something poisonous. I get the feeling that would put a damper on business.” He steals the joint from Holly’s fingers, taking one drag. This he can handle. He and Alfred built up a bit of a tolerance for it back in school.

Holly smiles, shaking his head at the sight. Pretty, pretty. Leaning in, kind of squaring him into the wall, he brings his lips close enough to kiss, close enough to take a ride off his high. His lips close in and he shotguns the exhale, unable to help himself. He's ashamed to say he's closing his eyes. When he pulls back enough to make some space, he smiles, breathing out and stealing his joint back. “Hey, my spliff. I get the first take. Those are the rules; there's an _etiquette_ , in case they didn't teach you that in school.”

Relieved, Mattie returns the smile. He knows he is far from safe yet; this is only the first round of the game. The strange thing is, he can't wait for the next. He wants more of this man, who is far more intoxicating than any drug. It’s even more of a kick than he felt meeting Francis. “Sorry; couldn't help it. Now I've got a party to get to. Maybe I'll see you around, if the coffee's worth coming back for.”

_Damn_ , Holly thinks. Why does he feel so sad? Why does he want to just trap him here and keep him? “Be fashionably late.” He smirks, flicking ash to the ground. His arm falls, but the other stays firmly pressed into the wall above Matthew’s head. “Share with me.”

This is indeed going far better than Mattie thought it would. Or is it worse? He has an urge to stay, to just give in and go anywhere at all with this man. Nevertheless, he has to meet back with Alfred and Arthur. God knows he'll be the only one there on time, but _someone_ has to be. Someone needs to play by the rules, or all will turn to chaos. He draws in close, this time breathing in Holly’s exhale, enjoying the gentle curl of smoke between them. “Another time. Think I'd like partying with you.”

Holly doesn't want to seem too eager, or desperate, or anything along those lines. But... Oh, just _hell_. That kid has his interest in a way no one’s held it before. He makes him want to chase. He already knows he'll be here nightly now, just hoping this one will come back.

He lets his arm fall, looking down at the joint between his fingers. Damn caution. Damn his itching nerves, still telling him to step back, be cool. “Another time,” he agrees, stepping back and heading to his table again, trying not to look over his shoulder.

XXX

Francis' whole day had been one of successes. He'd made nearly half a grand just doing blowjobs, and he was offered double the usual rate from an eager man who wanted to cum on his face. He didn't mind that so much, though he certainly acted like he did to rack the price up. So, it seemed fairly reasonable to expect success in his appointment with Artie tonight. And after giving the cop the blowjob of his life, he already knows he can only get his way.

He keeps licking the softening cock until Artie is quite finished, then tosses the condom. “Feeling good, cheri?” He hums, kissing the cop’s hipbone.

Arthur is _indeed_ feeling good, as he always does with Francis. Sad he can't expect more than his mouth tonight. “ _Very_.” He smirks a little, reaching out a hand and to pull Francis up his body to press a half-sloppy kiss to his mouth. The pills he took earlier have his motor skills a little off, but with the euphoria of Francis' tongue, he's fairly sure it could be the orgasm. “Always a pleasure, pet.”

“I would be insulted if it weren't.” Frannie reorganizes the kiss, makes it work for them. He likes Arthur sometimes. Most of the time, really, when the man isn't being a complete ass. He's not a bad lay, and he's fun to tease. Once upon a time, they might have been in love; but he’s got a bad habit of falling in and out of such romances. Artie is an especially difficult case, considering all the mistakes they’ve made together. They’re friends now, mostly to honor the memory of something that could have been beautiful if it hadn’t gone so wrong.

He spreads kisses over Arthur’s face, wondering if he should work him up for another round. On the other hand, he has been busy tonight, and he's getting tired and sore. It's only been a week since the...incident. His wrist is still in its sling, held tight against his chest, and the bruises have faded to an uglier shade than before. Worst of all, he's had to go through it without the drugs - except baby aspirin. Broken bones and bruises, unfortunately, are nothing new; he’s lucky he doesn’t scar easily, save for the ugly mark around his neck. He would take all of that over the withdraw; it was a week spent groaning, sick, and shaking in bed after he'd gotten rid of every damned pill in his room. There were moments where he'd wanted to kill himself for that, but Kiku stayed with him through the worst of it. He's still feeling the edge of it, and seeing Artie flying high has him jealous. Well, he will think of nicer things.

“Artie, I met angels the other day. Did you know there were angels here?” he asks.

Artie snorts, his head falling back and his breath coming through in laughter. “Angels?” Shaking his head slowly, he looks toward him with a smirk that was probably not at all sexy, not with how high he is right now. “Were you high when you met them, pet? Because angels haven't touched the ground here since the stone one fell off the statue in Grove Park.”

“Very,” Francis admits. “But they were real. I'm sure of it.” His anges are the clearest part of that night. Actually, they're the clearest memory he has of the last month or so. His smile becomes dreamy, and he falls back on the pillows, petting his hand over Arthur's chest. “They were beautiful. Almost the same, they could've been brothers. One spoke French. I want to find them again.”

“French?” He blinks, thinking on it. French. French, and they could've been the same. That's reminding him of something - or someone. “Huh.” Cute new partner, and the handsome one that matched. Right. “Well. Funny you should mention. I got two new partners yesterday.”

This is the other reason Francis likes Arthur. The man will tell him absolutely everything, and all Francis has to do is get him to a state past noticing. It's nearly unfair, since Artie gets himself most of the way there without his help. “Do tell. I always like a taste of new blue blood.”

Resting one arm behind his head, Artie smiles wide. He’s glad to let his thoughts stray to them, to Francis, anything but the flying green nightmare that likes to show up when he’s trying to force his brain to forget. “They looked a bit alike. Blonde hair, blue eyes. The one was a bit taller, but that might've been the backbone on him. The other one's a cute little cupcake. Cupcake speaks French. Mattie.” He grins at the thought. “Very cute. The other one's Alf. I don't think he speaks French. Or subtlety.”

Francis leaps up, nearly throwing Artie from the bed and wrenching his arm again. He doesn't feel it; it doesn't matter. He has not forgotten their names, and never could. “Mattie and Alf? Mes anges! You know mes anges!”

What? Arthur blinks, but the world is fuzzy. What the hell? “What're you talking about?” He blinks again, dazedly. “Christ, calm down. You're killing my buzz.”

He doesn't care that Arthur is a customer; he'll be back. He always comes back, even when they argue. He shakes him with his good hand, bringing him in close. When that only seems to confuse the man, he tries another tactic - one he's much better with. Laying kisses all along his jaw, nipping at his ear, hand sliding from his shoulder to his chest, Francis begins again. “Your partners. I believe they are my angels. Tell me about them, Artie. Tell me everything. Where are they from? What's their favorite flower? Do they like to kiss boys?”

Things are whirling so fast that Artie can barely concentrate on anything but the colors spinning behind his eyes, and when he can finally see again he's seeing Francis, looking very seductive as he drags his hands up his shoulders and kisses at his skin. Mmm... That's more like it. “Angels? Oh, I don't know. They're rookies. Best mates; known each other forever, from the looks. Don't think they're related, but they look it. Wouldn't be surprised if they've been kissin' _each other_.”

“Keep talking, Artie, and I'll make it worth your while.” He continues with the steady caress, glad he's been with this one enough times to know all the sensitive places. Like this one on the back of his neck, that with a graze of teeth should drive him mad. His own mind is whirling elsewhere, to the scent of fast food and sweet things. It should've been vomit-worthy. Instead it was heaven. For a second Frannie’s gaze slides to the closet. He kept Mattie's coat by mistake, but it has kept him sane this week. He'd pulled it over himself when Kiku wasn't around, breathed in the scent, and felt a little calmer. What he would give to see them again...

Hah. Good fortune is with Arthur tonight. He settles back into bed, letting Francis do things exactly as he pleases. Wetting his lips, he continues, “Don't know why Chief Tightarse had to saddle me with them, but they're a right treat, innit? Think Mattie's been playing around undercover. Alf I know - he's been working a beat for the last five months, over on the other side of the tracks. Made a lot of friends. Those won’t help ‘im now, but he has a habit of makin' friends. Acts like this town isn't a wasteland; gotta love optimism, right?”

Francis hums as he sucks at Artie’s neck, down his collar, and laps over a nipple. Optimism. A breath of fresh air. That's what they are. Something sweet, pretty, new, and _alive_ in a world gone dead and ugly. They make him want to hope. Francis is generally cheerful, but hope has never been with him. He puts his faith in what is right in front of him, and moans his prayers beneath the sheets. Hope abandoned him long ago; he made his own way. They all did. But there is something about this pair that makes him want to believe again, just a little bit.


	12. A Deal With The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toris and Ivan have a little chat. An offer is made.

Business is booming when Ivan checks the books Friday night, as expected. It is a good night, and he enjoys a large glass of vodka in celebration. That is, until a young, mean-looking piece of muscle with a distinctly Asian face slaps a red envelop on the desk and leaves without so much as a word. He opens it slowly with a penknife, removing a slip of paper that reads:

' _Fool,_

_Advance beyond this point and I will see to it that you are left so poor that you must whore your ass for money. Enjoy your adorable little establishment. I am certain you are wise enough to ground your investments exactly where they are.'_

Threats Ivan can handle. Physical violence is practically expected. But no one has ever declared war to him quite so eloquently, so haughtily-- this is like asking to have your brains handed to you in a stew. He growls low in his throat and clenches the paper. He is going to have to pay Mr. Wang a visit. He is not one for notes. No, all he has to say will be spoken in person or written in blood. He would already be on his way to the Rainbow, prepared to shove his pipe into Wang's whore of a brother, if he didn't know that the two hated one another. Leaving Kiku half dead on his doorstep would be like a present, not a warning. Besides, he likes the Rainbow and does not want to be banned.

Toris sweeps in, early and angry, ignoring the similarly angry man sitting at _Hans'_ desk to throw his things in his locker and get to work. The treatment costs. The nursing care. The attitude of all the fucking doctors, like Feliks had this coming to him, like he was such a fucking-! He tries to clear his head, stuffing the papers they gave him into his locker and slamming it shut.

Ivan comes very close to flinching when that locker slams. Interesting. He hasn't flinched from anyone besides Natalia in a long time. There is a so much potential in this one; so much frustration, so much fire and passion, usually shut away and controlled. He wants to let it all out and see what happens. For now, though, he continues to observe. He says nothing when one of the papers falls from Toris' locker to the floor, unnoticed. Whatever it is that has him so upset, it is affecting Toris' usual wariness. His guard is down tonight. Meddling drug lords or no, this might turn out to be a pleasant evening for Ivan after all.

When Toris returns to the bar Ivan shakes out the paper and takes a closer look. It is not entirely unexpected. He has heard the worry in Toris' voice when he speaks of this boyfriend, the way he smells of antiseptic and chemicals when he comes in. He guessed some time ago that the boyfriend is sick; very sick. This hospital bill is all the evidence he needs. What _do_ surprise him are the medicines listed: cocktail drugs for AIDs, treatments for cancer. Toris' boyfriend is sicker than he'd imagined (hoped). It is almost difficult to keep the smirk off his face. There is a lot of money involved here; not so much to him, but to Toris? More than he could ever hope to afford.

The bar is packed with customers, and that helps keep Toris’ head focused on the important things. Earning money. Earning money for Feliks. His meds, his treatment, his place in the hospital. He smiles through everything, bolting back and forth to either end of the bar, slinging drinks, taking tips as Bella busses tables. She knows he needs the tips. Sometimes she leaves him hers, despite his protests.

In a dark corner sits Natalia, working as Ivan's eyes while he's in the back. Most of the patrons she recognizes. They're either regulars or people beholden to her dear big brother. As they should be. Everyone should love Ivan for all he does! He is caring, wise, and strong. He even picked those two little brats off the street; who could say he was without pity now? Though she knows well it was not pity that led to his wards. They are useful. Ivan never brings anyone into their family who is not useful. She's strived to make herself the most useful of all, so he doesn't need anyone else, but he never stops hunting for fresh blood. Maybe that's because so many of these idiots get themselves killed. Too stupid, too macho, too loud...speaking of. There is a face she does not know by the bar. A man with bright blue eyes and a smile that does not belong here. Her eyes narrow and she sips her drink, watching Toris serve him.

Now that he’s here, Alfred understands why Arthur told him this bar was, like, _the_ place to be for the Russian set. The guys here are a wild bunch, but they apparently like to party with their crowd, and specifically their leader. The bartender's cute, too. Like, cupcake cute. He salutes him with his glass, earning only a frown. “Thanks bud!”

Natalia watches like a spider on her web, waiting for the fly to entrap itself a little further. He doesn't belong, that is certain, but why he is here...that remains to be seen. There are plenty who come looking for Ivan, hoping for a deal. Others are looking for trouble. She almost hopes it's the second one.

Out of the corner of his eye Toris also watches the charmer at the bar chat up a few henchmen types. He's pretty: blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile that says he knows how awesome he really is. What's he doing in a dump like this? _Oh_. For a moment he freezes, thinking about it, pretending he's pulling bottles from the cooler. He looks back toward the guy's reflection. Oh yeah. That's a cop if he ever saw one.

He drops the beers on the counter and pours another vodka, wondering if he should just let whatever happens happen. But... Fuck. This is his living. He brings the bottle to the back, leaning over Ivan’s desk to top off his glass. “There's a cop at the bar,” he says softly, swallowing a little and jolting his gaze back to the crowd.

Ivan glances up. He's been balancing his books against the bill, trying to weigh the cost. This will not be a cheap bargain, but it is not the biggest he has ever made. It all depends on how much Toris is worth. “How do you know? There are always cops in here. Most of them are fools.”

Toris breathes in slowly, taking in the scent of vodka and something else. Something that makes his blood feel sharp and hot. He has to lean back. “Self-important fool, yeah. But he's new. He's got the good-guy stars in his eyes - you can tell.” He crosses his arms over his chest, wary at the thought of going down for something just because he works for a snake. “He's not one of yours.”

It is difficult for Ivan not to smile. This is _exactly_ what he needs; the details, but only the ones that matter. Toris even came in without a word from Ivan telling him to watch for cops. Time to make his wager. He stands, casually heading toward the bar. “I will see if he needs dealing with. Thank you.” Before he leaves completely, Ivan pauses, not quite looking back. “Oh and Toris? You dropped something. It is on my desk. I am thinking we need to have a talk, da?”

Toris frowns, turning back to the desk as Ivan leaves. Papers liter it, but only one has the blue and white edging of the bill stationary Mercy uses. He picks it up between his trembling fingers. Shit. Shit _fuck_. He pales at the sight of the bill, of everything on it, staring in horror as he realizes this one doesn't just list the chemo costs. “Fuck.” He curses, dropping the paper and pressing his lips together, wondering if he should sit down or get back to work.

Natalia scuttles over to Ivan as soon as he appears from his office. She leans in close, using the excuse of her secret to give him a much more intimate embrace than he generally allows. She can almost taste the skin of his ear. “There is a hero at your bar. He does not seem very bright; only strong.”

Ivan brushes her off as though he has walked into a spider’s web. He can still feel her breath on his neck, even when he tugs his scarf closer. “I know.”

It doesn't take long to spot him, even from here. The boy is golden sunshine among an array of snow-clouds. Still, the fool is not entirely without skill. It is only his spies who truly take note; the rest do not see him as anyone of particular interest. The cop picks up quickly on the other patron's habits, and his easy nature draws plenty to like him.

Ivan starts toward the bar, only to change his mind. Now is not the time to confront the young cop. Now is the time to wait and watch. He is always looking for useful things, and an enemy's fool is often more precious than his best spies.

“... so, I was like "Dude, seriously, I can't even find my glasses, how the hell am I supposed to find your underwear?" And I mean, after that it was "NEVER AGAIN" to the vodka. But you know. I've grown. I'm pretty sure I can swallow it without yakking.” Alfred's talking to a group of big, burly Russians, who seem to think he's hilarious. Ah, new friends. His night is going _very_ well. “So, like, the good thing about it though was I got to find out what's going on back here. And I mean, I heard that dude Gil got knocked off. What the hell, man? That's _crazy_.” He very carefully keeps his feelings on Gilbert in the dark until he can gauge whether he was loved or hated here.

“The albino? Hah! He could hold his beer, I must give him that much, but we won't be pouring a glass to his damned departed soul, no doubt cooking in hell. And we'll meet him there!” The biggest thug laughs, pounding the bar with his glass.

“Hah- Yeah, got that right buddy, if where your hand is is any indication!” Alfred shoves the hand off his thigh, waving at the chick tender for another round. “What the fuck happened anyway? I heard he got shot!”

“You were thinking he fell down? Of course he was shot. By his own _brother_. I was here that night, and I heard the old German yelling in his office. Left in a hurry.” The second thug is older, with a much thicker accent. He leans in, lowering his voice as though about to reveal a great secret. “The old man was his grandfather, you know. Is not common knowledge, but quite true! That brother only stood to gain. Family means nothing to them!”

The first thug shoves his drunk friend. “Idiot! You know nothing. I was by the Casino. It was just a low-life, the one in the mask! I saw him after the shots, and there was blood on him.”

“Bozhe moi! My comrades are fools.” The third thug scowls, raising his glass. “Here's to the one who pulled the trigger and made the world a fool shorter. To the master of the house!” He throws back the vodka.

Alfred raises his eyebrows at all of this. This is just... Well. They've got a couple more leads than they did yesterday. And some interesting eye-witness testimony. He swallows his glass in toast, smirking a little to himself. “You guys are a fun bunch.”

Toris returns to the bar after a few deep breaths and rolls his eyes at the cop, half-wondering if he could be any dumber. No one drinks a Russian under the table. Except maybe another Russian. He drops a few more glasses in their vicinity and lets them fight for them, moving back to where Bella is helping someone at the register, dodging Natalia's angry glare. “Hey, make sure those idiots over there get water with maybe a finger of vodka? They're way over the deep end right now.”

She nods, moving back to where the storage closet is. They need more vodka - the good stuff. They've practically sold out of everything. _Everything_. “Hey, Tori, can you run to the liquor store? We're completely out of vodka.”

Toris curses, wondering what the fuck he's going to say to Ivan, how he'll even be able to look at him when he goes to the office to ask. He moves slowly, slipping into the office and waiting for him to look up, trying to shake the tension from his blood.

Ivan doesn't look up. He knows when there is someone there, and he knows who it is. Best, for him, not to look too interested. “Come in, Toris. You are wanting something?”

 _'I want everything back to how it was three years ago...'_ He almost says it. Instead he bites it back, flexing his fingers and wondering just what the hell has come over him. “We're out of vodka. I need to run to the store.”

Ivan waves his hand dismissively. “Da, da. Is good; means good business. Unless...you wish to talk now?” He raises his eyes, the violet glinting in the light from his desk lamp.

“I—” He's shaking. God, why does that look in his eyes have him so fucking freaked? “We... We're really busy. I'm taking fifty from the register. We close at one tonight. That should get us through the next two hours.”

“Very well. You will come and talk before you leave? Is not trouble, I promise.” _Not yet._ “I am thinking of a promotion for you. Much needed, da?”

Toris straightens. What? That easy? No... There's a catch in this somewhere. But it really _is_ much-needed. “Yeah. Definitely... needed. I'll... just go get that vodka.” Waving a little, he slips out of the room, not sure why he's blushing.

Ivan allows himself a real smile once Toris is out of sight. This has been an interesting night, filled with potential. He begins to chuckle, and then laugh aloud as he thinks of it all. “Run little rabbits, run. You do not see that this cage is glass, and you can only smash into a wall!”

XXX

One AM takes forever to arrive, and by the time it gets there Toris feels sick with worry and excitement. His body is not cooperating with his brain - in fact, it is rebelling wholeheartedly with the thought of seeing Ivan in the privacy of that office, with no means of escape. Slowly, he wipes down the bar and drops the rag in the sink. Steeling himself to fight every demon he has, he presses down his shirt and enters the office.

Ivan’s desk is neat now, with a few stacked piles to the side and Toris' paper in the middle. He gestures to the chair across from his desk. It's a lovely set up; the desk is massive, made of dark wood, and his own chair fits him. The seat for his guests is smaller, with little padding. It is not meant to be comfortable, and it forces anyone who sits there to look up at him. “Sit.”

Toris moves to the chair slowly, dropping into it and trying not to feel like a child about to be given a punishment. But that's what it feels like; kind of like that time in high school when he decked that stupid sophomore for calling Feliks a fag and got sent to the principal. He has a feeling he's meant to feel small here. Leaning back in the chair, attempting to get comfortable, he looks upon Ivan with what he hopes is the appropriate amount of homage. “Sir?”

Ivan smiles pleasantly, offering a cup of coffee. It’s the good kind; just the smell ought to help wake them up, and he needs to be awake for a little longer. They both do. “I am sorry to keep you from your boyfriend, Toris. Is hard, I am sure. Very hard to see someone you love so very sick, especially when you cannot help them.”

The notes of empathy in his voice are not entirely false. Back in Russia, he and his sisters lost their mother when they were very young to disease. Then there was no money, and they were shipped away. The image of his home growing smaller and smaller in the distance, leaving the three of them abandoned, is one that has never really faded.

Toris can hear something of the sincerity in that voice. And to know that he gets it... He knows everything that he does, at least… it makes him choke. Suddenly he finds it very hard to swallow his tears. “Thank you. For saying so.” Pressing his lips together, he curls his hands between his knees and closes his eyes, afraid to ask. “So, now you know. I need this job.”

Toris looks very pretty with his face like that. When those green eyes open again they glisten, and it makes him want to run his thumb over Toris’ cheek. He takes a moment to smooth out the paper instead. “Da. Is part of the reason I have decided on promotion for you. Is a good deal, you will see. But first, I must ask.” He looks Toris dead in the eye. “Are you sick too? Is no shame if you are, only I wish to know what you need.” And if there is a chance he should not be risking Toris' blood, or face him getting as sick as his lover.

“No.” Toris breathes out slowly, shaking his head. It is, for all intents and purposes, the most shameful part of this whole thing. He's not sick. Which means Feliks didn't get it from him. He opens his eyes again, looking up to Ivan's face, but not his eyes. He can't meet his eyes. “I'm not sick. He... I used to get tested every month, and we use condoms. But since he went really downhill he... won't.”

Ivan nods, tucking that information away for later use. “Well. You do not want to be sick. Is no good, not at all. I cannot figure out how you afforded such a thing for this long on the shit you made from Mr. Beilschmidt.”

Toris’ teeth clack together, his jaw snapping shut. It's not fair to say such things of the dearly departed, especially Hans. Still. He breathes through it, dropping his hands to smooth over his knees. “Feliks... He didn't take the meds. Never told me what he was supposed to be taking.”

Ivan raises an eyebrow. He's not a medical expert by any stretch of the imagination, but he knows his share about these things. Ivan does not forget. If he hears something once, he will know it forever. It is no wonder the man got so very sick. The look on Toris' face tells him he already came to a similar conclusion. There is such a mix of feelings there; hate for himself, worry for his boyfriend, but most of all there is a crippling fear.  “Why do you stay? It is not your fault. If you stay, in the end you will have nothing at all.”

God. It's the question Toris can't stand to hear anyone ask. His hands go lax against the arms of the chair, and he sits back, letting himself try to fall into this stupid, stupid mess and just swim in it. It's all he can do now. “I love him.” He says it softly, yet there is no quiver, no uncertainty in his voice. “He's everything to me. I don't know what happened and I don't care. I just love him, and I want to keep loving him for as long as I can.”

There is something in his voice that reaches down into Ivan's heart. Deep down, he likes to believe in love stories, in romance. He does not believe in happy endings, but there are happy middles, and that sometimes makes up for everything else. Part of him wishes it was the middle he was to take part in; it must have been something beautiful. But then, Toris would not have needed him. “I can help, if you are willing to make a deal.”

Toris had figured as much. A deal. With Ivan Braginski, the kind that could get him killed. Or... something. Breathing in slowly, he thinks about it - really thinks about it. What is he prepared to do for Feliks? Anything. Anything he needs.

“What kind of deal?” he asks, looking up at Ivan and, for the first time all night, meeting his hot violet eyes. He doesn't know what it is about those eyes that make him feel like a completely different person.

Ivan pulls a stapled set of papers from the top of one of his stacks and sets it down facing Toris, putting his pen next to it. “This is a contract, to make sure we both hold up our end of the deal. The wording is a bit...different,” _legal_ , “but it means the same thing. You will work for me; not just as bartender, but whatever else I need. I need someone like you, Toris: perceptive, quick, calm, _obedient_. In exchange, I will pay for this.” He gestures to the bill in his hand. “All of it. Medicine, hospital, doctors, food - all. I will even still pay you for bartending, as your own expenses. Very generous offer, da?”

All of it? _All_...? His breath leaves him, his eyes widening at the concept. He could make rent. Hell, he could actually eat something other than pasta and eggs. But the wording of this makes him suspicious. He thinks it over _. 'Whatever else...'_ That could be anything. That could be... God. No. He needs this. _They_ need it. He swallows, looking down at the paper. “So, I'll be one of your...” He gestures to the now empty bar. The word 'thug' does not even need to be said.

“You will be my personal assistant. It says so in the contract.” He points to the words, which make all of this sound so very reasonable and legal. Toris is not going to be like the others. He is neither spy nor muscle, not a dealer, not any of the things he already has. That is what makes this so interesting, and worth every cent. In any case, Ivan will have complete access to this boyfriend now; he could not ask for better leverage. “Ah, but do not forget. It also says that I am no doctor, and if any complications should arise for your poor Feliks, I am not responsible.”

Toris looks up at him again, just those last words making this sound a little more cagey. However, they _need_ this. Personal assistant. It sounds less like muscle, more like ass. But who is he kidding? If this keeps Feliks alive, he'll take it. Anything. He picks up the pen and signs, feeling cold, like he's just swallowed ice.

“Is good!” Ivan grins. He signs his own name and files it away to be copied. “Now then. I would like you to come early tomorrow, and then we will discuss details. There are no specific hours; if I call, you come. You do not ask questions. Just do. For now, you may go.”

Toris nods slowly, rising to his feet, his head bobbing in respect. Now that it's done, he needs to know. “And the bills? When will you...?”

“Leave them with me. By tomorrow, all taken care of. You will not even see them from now on!”

Toris’ breath comes out in a soft, heavy sigh, and he reaches out to take one hand between both of his, trying to feel _nothing_ but gratitude. It's impossible. He feels the man’s power; electricity that's strong enough to knock him out. “Thank you. I'm grateful.” He lets go fast, dashing from the bar and practically running to the hospital.

 


	13. Blood is Thicker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenage drama plagues Raivis and Eduard. Downstairs, Ivan uses Kaoru to send a message to Yao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! We hope you're doing well as we head into the fall season. Enjoy this chapter with a nice cup of cider and pumpkin bread - or, for the squeamish, perhaps not.  
> Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

The page in front of Eduard is the same one he started reading an hour ago, when he’d opened the front door and Kaoru barged past him. He'd headed straight for Raivis' room, and the sounds that followed... Well. They have left him utterly unable to concentrate on his homework. Sighing softly, he turns the page over. A loud, half-crazed moan assaults his ears. He almost wonders if Raivis is moaning like that on purpose.

He's not sure what's worse at this point: listening to them fuck or listening to them fight. It's always one or the other, and sometimes both at once. He doesn't understand why Raivis wants to be with someone who doesn't seem to care about his company. Kaoru is always busy, never up for a real date or interested in conversation. He drinks and he smokes and sells his uncle’s drugs, even to the kids at school. Apparently Yao doesn't know that part; no one says a word, because then they'd lose the one who supplies the hard stuff to the underage crowd. Those who don't buy remain silent as well; no need for half the school to hate you.

A loud, heady moan comes through the door. Another sound, rougher, comes through with it. There was thumping before. At least that part is over. But now they're doing something else, and whatever it is, it has Raivis whining.

Eduard groans into his book, and not at all in a pleasant way. Damnit, how is he supposed to get anything done like this? When they're out, he worries all night. When they're here, they're too loud for him to think at all! He wishes things could go back to the way they were before they grew up and things got complicated; when they were brothers - never by blood, but by loyalty and love. They'd found each other, somehow, when they were just a couple of starving kids on the streets. How is it that now, when they have everything they need, things seem more difficult?

Finally the groans end with a choked off whine. There is silence for a few moments, peace. And then whispers. Movement. Louder whispers. “Jesus, if you were just here for a bone, you should've gone outside and dug it up!” It comes through loud and clear, and so utterly Raivis. “Is that all this is?! Because every time I see you...” His voice trails off again to lower, agitated whispers. After far too long the door bangs open and Kaoru brushes out, barely mussed, like he didn't even take off his shoes.

Raivis feels sick for some reason. Sick and angry. He tosses the first thing he can grab (his alarm clock) at Kaoru's back, but misses. The door to their apartment slams, and he slams the one to his bedroom, close to tears. Fuck. _Why_? Why does he need this so badly? Why can’t he just not be in love, not want, not feel anything at all? Why can’t he make people a game, the way Ivan does? Why can't he lock himself in a box like Eduard? No, he has to feel every _fucking_ thing. So here he is, yet again feeling the impact so that someone else can have their fun.

Kaoru tromps down the stairs, trying to remember where he's supposed to be in the next hour. Yao's not expecting him back until after school tomorrow. He better find someplace to rest his head until then. But as he's leaving the bar, a shadow catches his eye in the corner. He slows to a stop, turning to look. Ivan is staring directly at him.

Ivan has known his sons have a late-night guest for some time. He’d allowed himself the brief, if foolish, hope that it was Emil before reviewing his security cameras. He likes Emil; the boy is quiet, smart, and well-suited for his Eduard – all the qualities that make him horribly unlikely to pay them a clandestine visit after midnight. It is unfortunate that Emil has stopped coming for public, daytime visits too. He'll fix it though. Emil will come back and Eddie won't be lonely, and his family will grow!

For now, he must deal with a more unsavory child. Yao’s damn nephew thinks far too much of himself; Ivan sincerely hopes that attitude gets him killed one day. After all, Kaoru is visiting _Raivis_. Raivis is HIS. His to keep forever, and he will NOT have this little cretin defiling him. But he is clever enough to know that timing is everything. Now, just when he needs an excuse to reply to Yao's ever-so-thoughtful letters, one comes waltzing straight into his bar. He grins. “Good evening. Or morning, I suppose.”

Kaoru freezes, breathing in a very slow, deliberate breath. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He is fucked. Hah. Oh well. Damning himself to a little warning speech, he turns around and heads back toward the busy-body father figure Raiv is so damn scared of. “Morning,” he replies easily, checking out his exits, waiting for an opportunity to slip away. “Just visiting.”

“Most visitors make themselves known, and do not sneak out my back door. Or fuck my sons. Do you know what happened to the man – one of my own! – when he started watching them undress?” Ivan does not move. If the boy tries to run, he will not get far. As if he would leave the exits unguarded!

The asshole sounds so much like Yao, Kaoru almost starts speaking Chinese. “He got hard. Like any sane man would.” Laughing, he turns around; it's no wonder Raiv's such a control freak.

“Quite the opposite,” says Ivan. He reaches out with his pipe, the curved faucet catching the boy around the neck and pulling him back. “He got very soft. It only takes a few good swings to break through the skull, and then everything is mush on the inside. Same with the ribs. All you are inside...” he drags him close enough to land a swift punch to his gut, “is soft. Is all the same when it comes out.”

The blow catches him off-guard. Kaoru doubles over, choking on the taste of Raivis' cum and his own bile. He holds himself tight, shaking, trying to keep himself from throwing up. Fuck, he can't breathe for a second. There are stars in his eyes. On the other hand, it’s nothing he hasn’t experienced before.

“Is that a _threat_?” he demands when he can speak again, because if there's one thing he can rely on, it's his own goddamn ability to beat the shit out of anything (and there're always Yao's goons).

If the boy doesn't know what a threat is when he encounters one, he'll be dead even sooner than Ivan had hoped. He pulls a piece of paper from his coat pocket. “I have a message for your uncle, in return for all the kind notes he sent to me. You will deliver it, da?”

Kaoru blinks at it for a moment. Completely blank paper. Not even an ominous black dot or something stupid. He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

As soon as he takes the paper, his head is within Ivan's reach. Ivan grabs him by the hair and _slams_ his face against the bar, hard enough that his nose breaks with an audible _SNAP!_ The sweet tang of blood fills the air, and Ivan grins, pulling the paper back from his hand. “Oh! I forgot to sign.”

He lifts Kaoru by the hair again, shoving the paper in his face so that it soaks up the blood pouring from his nose. Then he pulls a pen from his pocket - a very nice one, for signing important documents like contracts with pretty bartenders and threats to special enemies - and writes his name across the bottom, adding a flourish. “There! Is better now.” He tucks it into Kaoru's jacket.

The pain came so quick and sharp that Kaoru went nearly blind, and stayed that way until he was given permission to leave. The minute the paper is in his pocket, he is stumbling out the door, barely able to put one foot in front of the other because he's so focused on fleeing. Oh, he is _never_ going back there again. Raiv can come down and get in his fucking car next time he wants to see him. Fuck that.


	14. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiku visits his powerful half-brother Yao, looking for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend lovelies! Get excited, because we are finally introducing Yao Wang!  
> THANK YOU so much for all the comments and likes! We love love LOVE hearing from you, and we're so glad you're enjoying the story!
> 
> A note on names: **Sebastian** \- One hell of a (human) butler.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia (or Black Butler).

The house is a palatial one - old, from the city's grander days, with more rooms and chambers and secrets than Kiku would ever wish to know. He is led inside by Sebastian, the man who was once their father's most trusted guard and now serves as Yao's butler. That was a “promotion” many in their household felt to be dishonorable; a slap in the face for someone who so loyally served the late Mr. Wang. Not that anyone said so aloud, or that their father had inspired much loyalty in anyone. Annoyed with the thought, Kiku lets the Sebastian lead him to the parlor where his half-brother lounges over a chaise like he is the emperor himself, sake in hand while he watches a few minions play mahjong.

Kiku does not want to be here. It is rare that he arrives willingly, and rarer that he is able to leave easily. Yao has made it perfectly clear that his welcome is contingent upon what he brings to make it worth his while. Other than that, he is in a far worse position than the butler. He bites the inside of his lip to force down the look of contempt. Not today. Today, as much as he hates to admit it, he needs help. “Yao.” He bows.

Yao does not hear the room grow quiet, or the tiles pause their clicking, or the way they start back up again just as fast, not wanting to be noticed. He hears only Kiku, his... family spawn, the thing that everyone calls his brother. Breathing in slowly, he sits up, letting his neck roll around and his elbows lean on his knees. “Who are you bowing to, _brother_?” He says the term with a note of disdain. He does not exactly enjoy seeing him here, but he knows the idiot would not be here if he had a choice. He much prefers to see Kiku on his knees, calling him 'Ota-san' and sucking his cock in complete submission. Where he belongs. “You came to call upon your family. So call.”

Kiku stiffens. Yao's in a dangerous mood; he does not call him brother. Ever. Sometimes when they fuck, but even then the word is always a weapon. This may have been the wrong day to ask for a favor. But, there is no going back now. Yao might even enjoy the opportunity for a little intrigue and bloodshed.

Taking a breath, Kiku stands tall, ignoring the unfriendly eyes upon him. They are the ones who started calling him the China Doll. His own family's employees, and they think of him as nothing more than his brother’s whore. Let them. This has never been his real family anyway. “I would ask to make use of your skills, _brother_. Find the one who killed my lover. Make them pay. You have always been good at collecting debts.”

_Oh, really...?_ Yao smirks a little at the tone, glass slung between two fingers, hanging. Nothing to lose. It's in his voice, in his posture, in his eyes. Kiku has their father's eyes, but now they are dead. He does not like to see him this way. Despite everything, he enjoys the way those eyes fire at him with every nasty word Kiku wishes he could say. Yao wants him to struggle for life, not sink into death. He needs his toys, after all.

 “Hera, was it? The boy who paid you so many visits he never left a cent for?” He smirks a little wider, swallowing the last of his glass. “The little thief.”

Kiku’s hands quiver at his sides, but his gaze remains steady. “What is given freely is not stolen. What is paid for is not stolen. A thief is one who takes, and does not ask.” His eyes narrow, just a little, the implications perfectly clear. Yao makes it so difficult not to argue. He takes another breath, reminding himself that he _needs_ him. He will never find the answer on his own, but Yao most certainly has the means. He cannot rest until he knows the one who killed Hera is dead as well. Then....well, what happens then hardly matters. “Yes. His name is...was Heracles. Heracles Karpusi.”

There it is. Some life is left. Good. He needs that. Yao’s hand slides over the mouth of his glass and he smirks at him for just a moment, almost chuckling. Such a good thing to feel this again. Hatred, anger. It's been a long time since anyone talked back to him. Not even Kaoru is fool enough to do that anymore.

“Shot in the street, I remember.” He rises to his feet, moving to the table where the carafe is. “Sad. But tell me, what's my end of this? What do I care for a bit of muscle with a hole in his head?”

Kiku almost smiles. He knows what Yao expects him to say. Kiku is a whore, after all; no one ever expects him to offer anything else. While he is sure that will come into their bargain eventually - it always does - what he has in mind is something more likely to _keep_ Yao's attention. “Because the same person who took two shots to kill Hera needed just one to take out Beilschmidt. Who is to say you are not next on their list?”

Yao pauses, his hand on the carafe and his mind sliding elsewhere for a moment. Their trip together on the plane, when he was nine and Kiku was five. The way his mother glared at the Japanese maid did not register then, nor did the way their father slapped him when he laughed. What he knew was that they were going to a new home. And that was scary, but he was brave and he wanted to prove it. So he turned to his friend, the maid’s son, and said _"Don't worry, I'll protect you."_ And Kiku had said _"I don't need protecting. You do. So I'll stay in your room."_

He doesn't know why he remembers that moment from the time when they were friends, before he knew the shame this boy was to their family, before he knew his own role as his father's heir. “If I was next on the list, _brother dear_ , the killer would be dead already.”

Kiku wants to ask why Yao’s still alive, then, when Yao has been at the top of his list for so long. But Yao knows that, and knows that Kiku cannot do it. He...well, he does not love him, but he needs him. It is the sad truth of things. He chooses his next words carefully, for they are dangerous. “Yet I hear tell you cannot keep a single Russian from your territory.”

There's a flush on Yao's cheeks at the very mention of Ivan. Yao is not afraid of the Russian, but there is no doubt that he is threatened. That does not happen often, and Kiku doesn't think he knows quite how to deal with it.

Yao grits his teeth. He fills his glass and brings it back to his chaise, tempted to toss it at this mongrel and light him on fire. That would end this conversation nicely. But as much as Kiku cannot kill him, he cannot kill Kiku. They are still... necessary to each other, for all that it matters.

Sipping his drink, he looks away, considering it. The Russian owns half of the north, some of what was once entirely his part of town. He has been trying to handle that quietly. No one wants a gang war, not when there are bigger things afoot. “Russians are like ants. They crawl in and feed on my crumbs.” He drops back into the couch, calculating. “I will look into it.”

Kiku cannot deny that he has his own suspicions about Ivan, but there are too many stories about what happened that night to be sure. Even Kiku himself has been named as the jealous lover. Ridiculous. In the end he simply bows low. “Thank you.” Now, the hard part: how is he going to leave?

A group of angry-looking Chinese men drag in a rather large, burly Russian - one who is cursing up a storm. Suddenly feeling much better, Yao slides from his spot on the chaise and moves toward the group, waving Kiku off just as he would his butler.

Swallowing the last of his sake, Yao crouches down, waiting for his men to force the driver to his knees so that he may face him eye-to-eye. “Hello.” He smiles cheerfully at the man, ignoring everything his father taught him about emotions and letting his own glee show freely. “I take it you are Mister Tobias Lenktov?” When the driver does not answer, he knows it is the truth. He grins, curling his fist around his glass and swinging it, cracking the rim against the side of the man’s skull. The top half shatters against the skin, sending glass cascading over the man’s broad shoulder and down to his floor. Then Yao takes what's left in his hand and jams it over the driver’s lips, embedding it into his face and turning it, creating a gorgeous red, bloody circle.

Madness. Kiku should not be surprised. He's seen it too many times before. He's tired of all this blood, when the ones at the top barely suffer. Although with Gilbert dead, he supposes that is proved wrong. The ones at the top simply have the farthest to fall. And they will fall, Kiku is certain. Someday, every one of them is going to wind up just like Roma, just like Gilbert, just like their damned father. He slips out of the Wang house while he still has the chance.

Hours later, the driver is dead. And more importantly, that big, Armenian shipment Ivan was expecting is now hidden at one of Yao's many safe-houses. He embeds the glass back over the man's mouth, waving for his men to leave the body on Ivan's doorstep. If he wants to get personal, he can damn well get personal. But first, a shower.


	15. A Bitter Pill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an unpleasant visit from Mattias and Lukas, Berwald learns about Tino's troubled past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! We have super-extra-awesome news for you today. First, we finally uploaded a **character chart** to help you keep track of all these crazy people! Check it out on tumblr (link in our profile).
> 
> Second, since we are coming to the end of part 1 of the series, we've decided to celebrate with an **ask event** on tumblr! You can send questions for us or for the characters, either in the comments or on tumblr. We're starting early so that we can draw responses and scan them by the time we reach the final chapter.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

Berwald has been busy all day, dealing with the fall-out from a nasty bar brawl that left four injured and one unconscious. He's been fielding calls from the Russians, too. Apparently one of their drivers is missing, and they wanted to know if he'd turned up at the clinic - and if he happened to have any information on the Dragon. The driver isn’t here, and he doesn’t answer questions, so he's been screening his calls for the last two hours.

Now that he has a moment he’s making dinner/breakfast for Tino, who is due back from work soon. He rarely did the cooking when his partner was alive. It's only been in the past few years that he's tried to make anything more complicated than a sandwich. After all, Tino deserves something decent after being in the hospital all day and _still_ coming over to help him out.

Right on schedule, Tino flies through the door. He has bags in hand from the medical supply store: sterile equipment, syringes, biohazard bags, all things they need. Particularly the disposable gloves that were on sale. He bought eight boxes. “Hey!” He smiles cheerily, pushing his hair out of his face and dropping the bags on the kitchen table. “Latex gloves were buy one get one!”

It's hard not to smile around Tino, especially when he comes in bearing much-needed supplies. Still, Berwald shakes his head. That had to cost him. “Tino, I told y't'stop buyin' so much. I can't pay y'back for it all, n'y'already volunteer.”

Tino puts the other bag on the counter. “And that statement is now going in one ear and out the other. What is this, an omelet?” He pokes the eggy stuff on the waiting plate, then dumps the whole thing back into the frying pan left on the stove. “Oh! I got sterile stitch packs, too. They're in the bag on the table.”

Berwald sighs at the egg; it never turns out right. However, the mention of the stitch packs has him going through the bags like a kid at Christmas. “Y'did? Tino, y're like Santa or something!”

“Hah!” Tino laughs a little, using the spatula to break up the eggs. “Can you hand me one of the bagels in the fridge? Do you know where they are? Wait -”

It has not escaped him that Bernie hardly ever goes into his kitchen, let alone keeps track of what's in it. He's been filling it for his own sake as well as Bernie's for months now. He sets the spatula aside and goes into the fridge for one of the multigrain bagels. The olive oil is in the cupboard. The eggs are now officially done. He dumps them back on the plate and begins grilling the bagel in olive oil with a little bit of garlic. “So how was your day?”

It's kind of nice to smell something other than antiseptic. It's one of the many reasons Berwald loves it when Tino comes home. _Over._ When Tino comes over. The clinic is home to anyone who needs it. “Busy. Bar fight. Missin' driver. Y'seen any Russian drivers at Mercy? Name was...Toby? No, Tobias.”

Tino blinks, thinking on it, then shrugs it off. “Nope.” His eggs are soon dumped on a yummy garlic bagel, which he cuts in half and brings to the table. “We were kind of swamped though. Chicken pox is going around again. T'is the season.” He takes half of the sandwich and shoves the other toward Bernie. “Eat.”

Berwald looks down. It smells good, and really, that's enough to satisfy him. He pushes it back to Tino. “Y'must be hungry. Have the whole thing, or at least _more_.”

“Ugh, no.” He munches on his half, shaking his head. “We had two body dumps today, one at our morgue and the other in a dumpster out on Freemont. The one at our morgue was the worst. Somebody shot him point blank. His skull caved in when he hit the pavement.”

That Bernie can understand. There are some days when the images just won't leave him alone, and food seems to take on the exact texture and aroma of a brain or a lung, or the bowels he’s seen falling out of someone's stomach. He looks down at his half. Now he's _really_ not hungry. “There’s always something.”

Tino pushes the remains of the plate at him. “ _Eat_. You starving to death is not going to help anybody. You look pale.” Sighing softly, he leans back in his chair and smiles as Bernie picks up the half. “But it was funny - we had this little kid come in today. He tried to play knights with his buddies, and he was using a trash can lid as a shield. But it was heavy and when he swung it, he let go. It hit him right above the eye. Four stitches.”

Berwald chews carefully, happy to listen to Tino talk about anything. Especially the nicer hospital stories, the ones that have happy endings. There aren't nearly enough of those; he's starting to wonder if he really believes in happy endings at all.

Tino prattles on, half laughing at the way Bernie listens without listening. Sliding out of his chair, he moves to grab a drink, gratified to see the orange juice he'd made that morning (fresh squeezed for the vitamin C) is half-gone. At least Bernie had something today. “So I finally finished a book last night because I couldn't sleep,” says Tino. “I don't know what it is; I don't even need coffee to stay up anymore, I just can't get to sleep.”

Laughing a little, Tino pours a cup for himself and nearly drops the whole thing when he hears the door slam open. Then he hears the one voice that likes to haunt him when he _does_ manage to sleep. _“Tin?! You in there? Come check this shit out and pay up!”_

Fuck. His hands start to shake, and he tells himself to calm down like he does every time. “Um...” He puts the glass and the pitcher in the fridge.

Bernie raises an eyebrow. “S'just Mattias and Lukas. Matt’s a bastard, but...” He shrugs. Tino knows they need him. He brings the good medicine, the things they can't buy at all.

Breathing in slowly, Tino turns away from Bernie and heads out into the waiting area to greet the pair. Mattias and Lukas are drug runners for Yao Wang; they work as EMTs at the hospital, but they are _very_ good at skimming extra meds from the hospital’s supplies. They're both tall, but Matt is thick and muscular where Luk is thin as a wisp. Luk looks shrunken in on himself these days; carefully blank. Tino half wishes he didn't recognize that face. It would be better if he’d never known either of them at all. “What's in the box, Matt?”

Mattias drops the crate by the door, cursing to himself as he comes into the waiting area takes off his stupid fucking jacket. He's hot. He feels hot on a night he knows is cool. He needs a drink, or better yet, something to blow off a little steam. Ignoring Luk, he throws the jacket on one of the waiting chairs and wipes his sweating hands on his scrubs. “Check it,” Matt grins. He watches as Tino crouches to open the box, picking through it, counting up. That's at least five grand in merch right there that Yao is giving them for two. That's generosity.

Berwald walks in, never taking his eyes off his guests. Tino's got the supplies covered, he knows what they need and what market price is. Right now, he's more interested in the way Matt is watching Tino. He doesn't like it, not when he knows that they used to date. That was years ago; they broke up around the time of his family’s accident. Apparently it ended badly, but that’s all he’s gotten out of the nurse.

Then there's Lukas, who was Bernie’s friend at the hospital. They met when he worked in the ER. Luk didn't take shit from anybody back then. He was pulled together, could hand him a man’s arm while asking how his day was and keeping track of the blood loss. Berwald wants to know what happened to that Luk. This one's gone quiet, gotten too skinny. Then there's the bruise on his cheek, a fresh one this time. He takes hold of his chin, turning it to the light. “What happened?”

Lukas pushes the doctor’s hand away. “You try carrying that much shit and watching where you're going. Leave it.” It comes out with ease. Who's to say that's not exactly what happened, anyway? Matt said he was sorry.

Tino grits his teeth, suddenly pissed as hell. Of course. Of course, that's exactly what happened. He tripped carrying supplies. He slammed his hand on the ambulance door. He walked into a fucking wall. Reeling around, he throws the envelope at Matt, glaring. “There. It's fine. Go home.” Damn him to hell for all he's done already. His hands are shaking again.

Mattias catches the little envelope and pops the tongue out of its fold, not really counting. Just watching. Watching Tino, who is watching him like he's the one who did something stupid. He guesses that's how it looks.

Tino never gets like this around anyone else. Bernie doesn't like it. It makes him angry, and that's not something he feels. Sadness, pity, emptiness, a little hope, but not usually anger. He reserves that for very, very stupid people: himself, and then the one who killed his family and just _drove away_. His fists clench tighter. Compared to that, Mattias is a distant third. But third all the same. He puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I think y'should go. Y'got the money. We got the medicine. Y're done.”

Matt whips around, finding a very resolved face too close to his own. Look at the asshole, trying to protect what he never had. “Sure, man. Whatever.” He steps past Luk and the box, heading out the door and rooting through his pocket for the little pills that keep him easy and sane and better than normal. He pops one in his mouth and grinds it between his teeth, ignoring the nasty taste.

“See you next time,” says Lukas. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, glad to be rid of the weight of all those drugs. Matt's already popping pills. He's not really surprised; but Emil must be home by now, so he just has to hope that Matt stays somewhat grounded, remembers to be quiet. His little brother needs to study, doesn't need to hear them doing the one thing they've always been good at.

“Luk,” the doctor calls to him from the door, reaching out after him. The feel of cool air makes Bernie draw his hand back. “Luk, y'can stay if y'want. S'been a while since we talked.” He already knows the answer, but he has to ask anyway. He can't just watch this happen.

Lukas stops for only a second, halfway between Berwald and Mattias. He does not look back. “Thanks, Bernie, but some other time.”

Tino hears them go, and he breathes out slowly. He doesn't blame Luk for saying no. He'd turned down those offers too, from everyone, back when it was still him. Scared, guilty, just knowing that if he leaves, Matt would...And Luk has _Emi_ to worry about. Of course he’d say no. Then go home, have sex, try to sleep. Wake up in another fresh hell.

XXX

It seemed the moment Matt and Luk left, things started picking up. Another bar fight. A kid with an allergic reaction but no EpiPen or insurance. Four addicts in the grips of a major problem high. Someone is selling shit cut with a nasty compound meant to look like crack, but it is taking kids sky high and bringing them down like the fucking Hindenburg. It takes them four hours to get them stable, sleeping it off in the patient beds. At last, Tino takes off his gloves and heads for the kitchen in search of water.

It's a good thing Mattias and Lukas did show up tonight, because some of those meds were desperately needed. It seems like every time the Clinic gets restocked, they're running out again. Berwald hasn't been paid in a while, either. He knows some of the Rainbow employees will show up soon and pay more than they owe, but that still leaves the Clinic behind. He owns the house, but the utility costs are high and they always, _always_ need more supplies. He never expects Tino to cover it, and even though he is grateful when he does, Tino has his own expenses to worry about. They're going to have to find the money somewhere, or start charging.

Bernie pulls off his personal protective equipment, washes his hands, and follows the nurse out. Tino's shoulders are stiff. Something's been bothering him ever since their medicine dealers showed up. “Wha's wrong?”

Tino pours himself some water, not even noticing Bernie's presence, let alone hearing his words. His mind is on Matt and Luk, and so are his worries. He can't help but wonder just what's happening now. Are they in bed, fucking like horny rabbits in spring? Are they fighting? Is Matt knocking Luk’s jaw off its hinges, right in front of his little brother?

Tino is gripping that glass so tightly it's a wonder it doesn't shatter. Berwald puts a hand on his shoulder, just barely touching him so that he doesn't spook. “Tino?”

He drops the glass, gasping and ripping away with wide, half-wild eyes that only calm when he sees that it's Berwald. _Oh_. “Sorry.” He whispers it, looking over his shoulder at the glass and grabbing a paper towel to start picking up the pieces.

This isn't like Tino at all. He's usually so careful, so easy and calm. It's only around Matt that he gets like this, and Bernie’s had enough. For too many years he's been so trapped in his own head, with his own ghosts, he has simply stood by while Tino deals with his. “Leave it. I'll get it later.”

He puts the paper towel on the counter and leads Tino to the couches in the 'waiting room.’ A brief inspection of his friend's hands show a minor cut. He goes for the little first aid kit. It will be easier to talk while he works. “Tino, what happened? Between y'and Matt, I mean. Something's not right here.”

Tino’s spine is stiff, ramrod straight. This... this is new. He feels wetness between his fingers and looks down to find blood. It doesn't hurt. He's just not paying attention at all tonight, is he? He's lucky those addicts in the back aren't dead. Swallowing, he looks toward Bernie and tries to piece together his answer. In the end, he goes with another question. “What do you mean? We broke up forever ago. I'm not...” He waves the bleeding hand toward the door. “I don't fool around with attached guys.”

“I know,” says Bernie. In fact, he's never seen Tino with _anyone_. Except Mattias. They met when Tino was with Matt, in the ER. He was setting Tino's broken arm, and Matt was in the hall, worried. He'd fallen, or something. There was something strange about it then, too. But Bernie had been distracted by Tino's questions; he wasn't perturbed by the arm, so much as curious. Wanted to know all the medical details, because he was in school to be a nurse. Just like that night, he keeps Tino's hand steady in his and his voice even. His bedside manner isn't perfect (he's been told he's too scary), but he tries to keep everything calm. “S'not what I meant. I meant...y're still angry with him.”

He's so close, and Tino’s mind is so distracted that he feels kind of dazed. Is this what it feels like to be "overwhelmed?” He's never understood the term before. But in this moment it makes perfect sense. Overwhelmed. By the nearness of him, the way his hand presses warm into his flesh. “I suppose,” he says after a too long moment, his mind suddenly fizzling, full of things that he can't focus on. “Is it really that bad?”

Berwald places a band-aid over the cut, tenderly pressing the sticky ends down. He doesn't even think about why; there's just something about Tino that makes him want to be particularly good to him. Then he looks up, so that Tino cannot avoid his eyes. “Was it?”

The blue of his eyes has Tino taken aback. This is why he loves Bernie. Not for his kindness, for his dedication, or for any of the hundreds of other reasons he should, but because there is something about him that just clicks inside like a light switch. “I...”

He doesn't know what to say. Was it really that bad? With Matt? Hell yes it was. But he survived, didn't he? He walked away. He's still breathing. “I'm still breathing,” he says, drawing his hand back and curling his arms around himself, feeling naked under that gaze.

Berwald’s suspicions are growing, to the point where they aren't really suspicions anymore. He lets Tino have his space, but tries to prod a little further into the situation. Matt is a jerk; always has been, and he has his own reasons to hate him without being angry on Tino's behalf or Luk's. He just wonders how far it went. “What happened? At least, what happened in the end? Why'd y'leave him?”

Tino blinks at the question, then closes his eyes again to think, for once feeling about as tired as he should. Thinking about this has made him want to curl up and sleep, forget everything else. “I...” _'I realized he wouldn't change, no matter what I did. I realized that I was scared of the person I was supposed to love. I didn't have any fight left in me.'_ “Why do you care?” he asks suddenly, barely realizing it's a legitimate question. “I mean, you've never asked before.”

That...well, Bernie doesn't have an answer. Not one that he likes. Is it because he's too selfish to bother asking Tino about his life, or because he didn't want to know? Both, probably. He looks away. “Don't know. Y'don't have t'say, it’s just that sometimes talking helps. And y‘know I won't tell anyone. S'my job, and I've got no one else t'tell.”

That's true. It's all true. And if there's anyone Tino would want to talk about this with, it's Bernie. But part of him is still ashamed, still hurting. He let it go on for so long, letting it happen like the pitiful little worm he was. God knows if Bernie knew just how damaged he was by that man, he'd never look at him the same way. “You're right.” He sighs softly, looking down at the band-aid on his finger and running his thumb over it. “It's just, I don't feel good about it. It ended very badly, and he still...” _'scares me to death.'_ The words go unspoken. “I'll just keep out of the way next time, alright?”

“How about I keep him out of y'rs?” Berwald tries to smile. That doesn't stop him from wanting to know. He should let it go, shouldn't pry any further, but if it was _that_ bad, he wants to...what, make it so that it didn't happen? He of all people knows that isn't possible. Still, maybe he can let him know that whatever happened, it's ok; he can make sure it never happens again. Perhaps this once, he shouldn't just clean up the mess. Someone needs to get Lukas out of there.

Bernie is actually _smiling_. God, that makes Tino nearly melt. He smiles back, grinning ear to ear, his hand reaching out to pat his fingers. “It's not something you should worry about, okay? You're a doctor. You have better things to do. Besides, you're the one who got me to leave in the first place.” Sliding to his feet, he steals the man's glasses and grins as he reaches for them. That's one surefire way to make Bernie sit still. “Now close your eyes and don't move for a little while. I'll get you some tea. It's been a hell of a night.”

“But...” That's hardly fair. He crosses his arms, almost laughing. Tino never plays fair.

Still laughing, he heads for the kitchen and spots Bernie's phone on the table, flashing. “Oh, your phone.” He brings it back to him and hands him his glasses so that he can read. “Holly called.”

The glasses get pushed up his nose, and Bernie looks down, hoping for a message. Of course there isn't one. Holly is against leaving any sort of trail. “Want t'ask him if he knows about that shit the kids took.” He gestures toward the back rooms, where their patients are sleeping. Holly seems to know just about everything that happens in this city. He's a good source, and willing to give a bit of information to the clinic for free, since they regularly fix up his customers without turning him in. He also wonders if Holly would know anything about Matt. They do work together, in a way.

“Let me know what he says.” Tino smiles, heading to the kitchen. Clearly, Holly's expertise is very much needed in this case. And besides, he's too wrung out to be positive about what they took. Tea will help them both; maybe some ginger snaps. He heads to the kitchen in search of them.

Berwald nods, for a moment looking between Tino and his phone. If he's going to ask about _that_ , he can't let Tino hear. He has a feeling Tino won't appreciate the concern. Making a decision, he starts for the stairs. “M'gonna call him upstairs. Y'know he doesn't like it when y'might hear. Paranoid. I trust y', but...”

Blinking a little, Tino shrugs it off and nods. “There's this fantastic plum tea I bought at the Asian Market down the street. Want some of that?” He raises the mug and box.

“Yeah,” Bernie calls back. Then he's at the top of the stairs, and it's like entering his memories. Not one thing has changed here since the day he lost them. He cleans the sheets every once in a while, especially the ones in the master bedroom that he still uses. He dusts, but everything goes back exactly as it was. He feels like he's still waiting for them to come home, for Victor to come give him a kiss while Peter runs to play with his toys. The little soldiers are still in formation on the floor of his room, and his favorite stuffed animal is still on his pillow.

That door remains shut, however, and Bernie leans against it. He doesn't go inside too often these days. If Peter came home today, he wouldn't want those toys anyway. He'd be sixteen next month. Has it really been six years? He shakes his head. This is why he never bothered about Tino. It needs to stop. He needs to start thinking about his friends - well, friend. He dials Holly.

Holly's strung out by the time his phone rings, dazed on pot but nothing else. He never does anything else these days; the bad shit can really ruin you. He knows that from experience – his, and others. It’s a lucky thing he was never into sharing, really. He snuffs the joint in his ashtray, grabbing his phone as he stares at the ceiling, wondering if perhaps it's the kid he's been thinking about all week. Of course not. “'lo?”

“Holly? S'Bernie. Y'good t'talk?” He's learned to ask, because it is pointless to ask Holly anything if he's too far gone. Then things just get confusing, because he can't tell if he's talking about a vision or some new drug he should worry about.

“Fine, fine.” Bernie. Good. They need to talk, even if the sound of his voice makes him deflate a little, banishing cute little party boys to the far side of his mind. “Some assholes tried to short me earlier. Kaoru dealt with them, sent them on their way. I'm assuming they're with you now?”

“Y'mean the kids? Well not kids, more like teens. Bu' they're young. What'd they take? S'bad stuff. Almost lost the one.”

“God knows. They wanted a party mix when they came to me.” Holly shrugs it off, feeling no guilt whatsoever. He's seen too much to feel guilty for this. “Stupid. I'm guessing somebody across town gave them faux-crack. The danger factor is definitely there. I just wanted you to expect them. And they're going to try to leave the minute they're awake. One of them has a real problem.”

“Figured,” Bernie replies. The one had struggled hard when they tried to help, coming very close to actually biting him. That was when they were crashing hard; he doubts he'll be able to keep them, once they're feeling a little better. He never can. They'll be back, just like everyone else. “Know what was in it? If y'can, get someone t'stop y'r friend. Any more of that and y'll be missin' customers.”

One good thing about Bernie, he knows how to talk to him. “Fair enough.” Holly makes a mental note, rolling out of bed and heading for his fridge in search of water. His apartment is a studio; he's never needed much else. It's a gorgeous space with high, industrial windows that look out on the city. There's nothing like it. “I’ll find out who it is.”

“Good.” Normally, that would be the end of their conversation, so he speaks quickly, before Holly can hang up. “Ah, there's something else. S’little...personal.”

Holly pauses, thinks on it, and then gives in to his curiosity. “Shoot.” He pours his water and ducks his head back in the fridge, wondering what he's got. Is that a muffin? No. That's not... completely muffin. He pushes it aside and finds grapes waiting in a bowl in the back.

There's a moment of silence as Bernie collects his thoughts, trying to decide how to ask. “Tell me about Mattias. And Tino. Together.”

Holly’s shocked. Completely shocked. He nearly chokes on a grape. “Matt and _Tino_?” He frowns, taking the bowl back toward his bed and draping himself over it, wondering just what could've brought this on. Everyone in the world knows Tino's got a thing for Bernie. Whether or not Bernie has anything _back_ is an entirely different question. He guesses this answers it. “Why? Is he seeing him again?” Motherfuck - that would be just _it_. If Matt had somehow wheedled his way back in with Tino, coworker or no, the man would be in a ditch by morning. There are just that many people who love Tino and hate Matt; the only reason he’s still around is that Yao finds him too useful to rot in a jail cell - or that ditch.

“ _No_.” Berwald says, with more force than he intended. He tries to back off a little. “No. S'just, every time they're in the same room, Tino gets freaked. Don't like it. I know something bad happened, but he won't talk t'me. Don't like seein' him like that.”

Holly raises an eyebrow. “You don't know about that whole fiasco?” It shouldn't shock him. It makes sense, what with the accident and the way Bernie just shut himself down. But it was kind of the biggest news since friggin' Hans quit the business, so it felt like the whole world knew. “They were together for like two years, running around with the mesh shirt and collar set. Dude used to beat the tar out of him.”

Berwald’s fist clenches, and he finds himself trying hard not to punch his son's bedroom door. That much he had guessed already. Knew, from Tino's visits to the ER. What happened after, though, is a mystery to him. He was...not himself. That's the nice way of putting it. “And then...?”

Holly pops a grape into his mouth, thinking on it. It was a long time ago, but the whole thing is still a story for the ages. One of those cautionary tales that get flung around the city because there's bad, and then there's ‘You think _that's_ bad...?’ “Well, the way I understand it, Matt started using the harder stuff and things got nasty. He carved his name into Tino’s backside and had him show it off at parties. It wasn't pretty. Tin tried to end it, and he left him half-dead and handcuffed to a pipe in his basement for two days. Went on a real bender.” His jaw sets and he drops to his pillow. “Yao found out and sent some guys to get him out of there.”

The phone drops from limp fingers, and Bernie chokes back bile. He falls back against the wall and slides down it after his phone, nearly shaking. Oh God; sweet, dear Tino went through all that, and he didn't know? No. Of course he didn't. He was busy mourning, getting drunker every day, coming into work and not being able to see straight, screaming at his coworkers and fucking up meds until they sent him home and took away the one thing he had left. Work. Who had come to him then? _Tino_. And he hadn't even noticed a thing was wrong. He really might be sick.

How is he going to look at Tino now? Not because he's disgusted with him, but rather with himself. He didn't think, he _never_ thought of what Tino might've been through. Mattias could have killed him.... _Mattias_. His fists clench again and he growls. He wishes he could hurt him, dump drugs down his throat that would burn through his stomach while he was alive. But he's a doctor - at least, in his heart he still is. He can't harm, only heal. He has to get a grip, before the shaking of his hands makes him go for the whiskey. He only has it on hand for patients, when they are utterly out of supplies. It's a decent remedy for a cold, too.

“Hello? Um... Bern?” On the other end of the line, Holly frowns. Pulling the phone away from his ear, he looks at the screen. Call's still running. Huh. Odd. His mind wanders back to that time. The whole thing was insane. He still remembers visiting the kid in Yao's mansion, practically sealed off from the world because they all knew Mattias was looking for him. They moved him to the Vargas brothers eventually, and Holly kept visiting then, watching him get stronger, get to know the boys, endear himself to them the way he did everyone else.

With a deep breath, Berwald picks up his phone. It's an effort to keep his voice steady. “I have t'go now. ...thanks. I'll...later. Later, if something comes up.”

“You okay?” The doctor’s voice doesn't sound right. He's not steady. Shit, what the hell is going on over there? “Bernie?”

“It's _fine_ Holly!” He doesn't know why he's shouting. That was the past, not the present. Damage done. All that's left is picking up the pieces, putting things back together. Isn't that what he's always done? His fingers tug at a dark stain on the grey hall carpet. Peter spilled grape juice there. He'd been angry, locked him in his room. How stupid. The carpet never mattered at all. None of the petty things matter. People do. He has to do something. Tell Tino it's okay. But how is that going to sound coming from him, when he's the one who cannot keep it together? “M'fine. G'night, Holly.”

 “Yeah. Night.” He hangs up, still worried. He's never heard Bernie yell, not once. He'll visit tomorrow. Maybe the doctor can help him figure out why he can't seem to sleep anymore.

Berwald shuts the phone, and then takes another minute to sit and stare at it. There are so many things going through his head, he can't keep track of them. He can _see_ it, see Tino alone and hurt and _terrified_ of that monster. He presses his forehead against the wall, trying to make things slow down, to remember where he is. There's a touch on his shoulder, a little hand. He whips around, and for a split second he sees that bright smile, the blue eyes wide, wondering what daddy is doing on the floor. He reaches for him. “Pete...”

There's nothing there. Never was. Of course not. His son is dead, and Tino is downstairs, healthy. He forces himself to stand, and after a brief trip to the bathroom to throw water on his face, he heads back to the kitchen.

The tea's been sitting on the counter for twenty minutes now, growing cold. Tino is just about to nuke it when he hears Bernie's steps on the stairs. Sipping his own, he grabs a ginger snap from the box he has open. He really needs to stop eating them. “Any news?”

“News?” Does he sound normal? Bernie can't tell. Everyone else tells him his voice never changes, but he hears every inflection. Tino looks just fine, munching on ginger snaps and sipping tea.

But Bernie’s voice does sound funny, and Tino can hear it. He frowns, looking up and taking a serious gauge of his face. “Holly. Did he give you anything?”

Holly gives many people a lot of things. Yet for some reason, the one time Berwald actually tried to buy something from him all those years ago, Holly took a good look at the drunk and walked out. He owes him for that one. But that's not what Tino means. Ah. Their patients. He'd forgotten. “Yeah. Somebody he doesn’t know. S'gonna try t'take care of it.”

Tino continues to frown, checking him out. There's something wrong with his eyes. They're creased, like he's trying to look calm. “That's good.” He looks back down at his cookies, chalking it up to another one of Bernie's many mysteries. “Your tea's cold.”

Berwald can't help it. He grabs Tino and pulls him close, hugging him as he has never done before. “Y're...important t'me.”

Tino’s breath hitches at the sudden pull. He's in his arms, surrounded by him, breathing him in like fresh, sweet air. God, it's like coming home. But it's not. It's not, because _they're_ not. He pats his back, blushing heavily, and slowly steps out of his arms. “You're important to me.” He laughs a little, looking away. “Didn't we have this conversation?”

Bernie nods, not trusting himself to speak. He can't think of anything else to do right now. They'll figure things out, together this time. It's worth a bit of a smile.


	16. Like Red Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antonio reveals the fate of the man who hurt Francis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what lovelies? It's PandaG's Birthday! And here's a present for you - a new chapter, with the return of Francis!
> 
> Please note - we try to get these chapters up as fast as we can, but we're working adults (or so they tell us) and there are two of us, so it takes time for us to both edit each chapter. Have no fear, however: we're on it! We've already started to edit part 2.

The afternoon is a lovely one. Not too hot, not too cold, with a hint of breeze from just the right direction to take the stench of the city away. Because of his (forcibly) lightened schedule, Francis even has the time to enjoy it, sitting on the balcony of his room. He sighs with contentment; there's something pleasant about the simplicity of enjoying a glass of wine _without_ company. It’s easy to feel good, even though there are days and long, dark nights when he feels sick enough to give into the temptation to call Holly. But he won't. He promised Kiku that enough was enough, and the man has put enough effort into helping him through the withdrawal. Heaven knows the drugs have gotten him into enough trouble already; he's got his wrist in a sling to remind him of that much. A shiver creeps up his spine, like big, rough hands reaching for his neck. Suddenly the afternoon isn't so pleasant, and his good hand is subconsciously reaching above his collar to trace the ugly line across the skin. He slaps his hand back to the table.

The door to Frannie’s room is open, and Antonio peers inside. He’s come by with lilies - Francis' favorite, though he'd have everyone think it was roses for the sheer expense. After last night... he needed to see him. Tell him everything was okay. There he is, beautiful in the sunlight, drinking wine on the balcony. Classy. He knocks on the doorframe, calling his attention.

Francis jumps, startled by the noise; he wasn't expecting company. But it's his beloved Antonio, and he is instantly smiling again. “Toni!” He leaps to his feet, coming to kiss him in the doorway. “Come in! Would you like some wine?”

Toni grins, enjoying his pleasant armful of Francis for a long, easy moment. “Love would be the word.” For the wine. For everything, really. Reaching up, he tucks a long blonde wave behind Francis' ear and offers him the lilies. “You're looking good today, gorgeous.”

Frannie’s smile goes wider, honestly flattered. Not so much by the compliment, which are literally a dime a dozen, but the lilies. Toni remembers these little things, treats him like gold whenever they're together. He takes the flowers, letting their sweet scent fill his afternoon with happiness once more. Then he kisses Toni again and leads him to the balcony. “As are you, mon cher Espagnol.” He gestures to a seat while he puts the flowers in a vase - he has a great number of them, flowers and vases both - and retrieves a second glass. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Oh man. This is definitely the sort of conversation you should ease into. “Wine first.” Toni drops into the seat across the table and lets a grin slide over his features. Francis has such a pretty smile when he's smiling for real. “How're tricks?”

Francis laughs, gesturing to the broken wrist. “Not as good as they could be, but not terrible. You know I am quite creative!” He winks, pouring the wine for his lover before refilling his own glass. Business is truly not as bad as it could be. He's found there are a great many who simply fall over themselves to play the hero, the doctor, the _whatever_ if he pouts the right way and allows himself to look particularly pitiful. It makes Kiku roll his eyes, but he's only jealous. “How's your little Italian charge?”

Toni smirks a little, almost wishing he could cackle. “Amusing. He's so jealous and he hates to admit it. But then again, I mean, look at me. Who wouldn't get possessive?” He grins, sipping his wine and leaning over the table to tap his chin. “You're gonna have to show me some of that creativity later. You got any free time tonight?”

A tongue darts out to lick the finger on Francis’ chin, sucking it into his mouth before Toni can draw it away. He very much enjoys spending time with Toni, no matter what they're doing. However, he is particularly fond of watching him squirm when he _knows_ there's no relief coming. He lets go and sips his wine as though nothing unusual just occurred.

“I will make time just for you, oui? Unless mes anges appear! Then you must forgive me, I have to see them again!” Francis sighs, eyes going far away. He's been keeping an eye out for the pair since Arthur told him who they were. They haven't crossed his path yet, but he will bribe Artie into _making_ them if he has to.

Toni rolls his eyes, trying to temper his jealousy with more wine. These "anges" have been all Francis ever thinks about these days. He's at the point where he wants to find them himself. Still, he's with Francis, and he loves it when the man is being a tease. He lets his wet finger trail down his neck, stopping at his collarbone. Maybe when he gives him the news, he'll have his undivided attention.

He swallows his wine and drops back into his chair. “So, I came here because I wanted to let you know about... the guy. Who...” He waves a hand to the sling, not wanting to say it.

Francis stiffens instantly, the memory hitting him hard enough that he spills red wine on the table. “Merde,” he curses, getting up for a napkin. He doesn't want Toni to see how much it bothers him. It was weeks ago now. He's...it shouldn't bother him so much. Worse things have happened.

“Frannie-” Reaching out, Toni rests a hand on his thigh, firm and grounding, trying to pull him back to the here and now. He needs to give Francis closure, let him know. Maybe now the love of his life can find some peace in this mess. “I took care of it.”

That catches his attention. Took care of it? When Antonio takes care of things, they are permanently finished. Sometimes there's a mess left over, but Ludwig or...well, it used to always be Gilbert, makes sure it disappears. He studies Toni's face, and knows he's serious. “You killed him.”

Toni’s jaw sets and his hand slips away. He doesn't even have to nod. Francis is smart; he knows he can't say it, not here. Not ever, really. It's the kind of thing you go to your grave with. “Anyway.” He pours himself another glass of wine. “It's done.”

Francis isn’t sure how to react. The man who has haunted his thoughts, with those big hands and mean eyes and the heavy stench of sweat, is dead. Now he can't come back for him, can't wrap those hands around his neck again and take away his breath. Maybe now he'll get some sleep. Real sleep. Sleep that doesn’t end in Toni or Kiku waking him because he is crying, or worse: waking to nothing but the eyes in the dark. Yes. He's glad the man is dead.

Forgetting the wine, he stands, taking Toni's hand and wrapping the man’s arms around him. He breathes him in, smelling cologne and wine instead of sweat and sex. Safe. He's never felt anything but safe when Toni's there, even when he's in a temper and yelling, waving his gun around. Toni has never, _would_ never hurt him. “Come sit with me for a while.” He cannot thank Toni for a murder, but he can take him to bed. Not for sex, not this time. Just a moment to hold on to one another.

“Long as you like,” Toni replies. He holds him as tight as he always does; tighter now, because he can, because they both need the closeness. The way their bodies hold close, it's so right. So perfect. How can Francis not know that they are meant to have each other? He will wait for him to see, be patient, let him come to grips with everything else.

Slowly, Toni leads him to the bed, lets him lay down and falls in next to him, pulling him close. His arms wrap around his waist and his chin presses into his shoulder. “I'll always protect you, Frannie.”

“I know. And I will be here for you, always.” Francis rests his head on the Spaniard's chest, his bad wrist carefully supported between them and the good one resting on his arm. They kiss slowly, the act lingering but nearly chaste. Everything will be alright. They have each other, along with all the other pretty things who weave into their lives. “Mon amour.”


	17. The Gentleman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vosh stakes out La Citta in an effort to learn more about the Beilschmidts. While fending off the advances of Francis and Kiku, he encounters the Beilschmidts' cousin, Roderick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! We hope all is well for you. Thank you for the reviews! If there's anything you'd like to ask/see us draw, please do let us know so we can start on that for you.

La Citta is packed, as it is every time Roderick Edelstein plays. Women and men alike come to listen and drink, and no one ever leaves alone. That is mostly the brothel's doing; when Roderick plays the whores gather at the bar and offer special rates, since they know the piano man can get them out of trouble.

Tonight, however, strange things are happening. There is a man chatting up the whole damn bar as though it is an information desk. Roderick watches, cool eyes following the man and smirking as he realizes what the problem is. There is a cop in their midst.

Vosh is the chief of police. Undercover work is _not_ his thing. Never was, not even in his rookie days. He's too straight forward for all that nonsense, so he does not bother to hide his identity. He isn't here to play their games; he's here to distract them from the ones who really are undercover. Besides, sometimes a known cop can get better answers than one posing as a civilian. So he makes them uncomfortable? All the better. “Is this place always so full on a Wednesday night? Every night? Or is it a special occasion?”

“It's always full,” says the handsome prostitute. His eyes dart to the bar and he moves down a seat to try attracting the attention of the man sitting on the next stool. He is _not_ talking to the chief. The man is a lost cause; more likely to take him to jail than to bed.

Vosh hates places like this. It’s too noisy, even if the music isn’t half bad. The smoke, the close bodies, the stress...his head is pounding. Again. One of these days he's going to have an aneurysm if he doesn't get himself killed by waltzing into Beilschmidt's territory first. However, there is no sign of Ludwig or his Italian puppies. Yet.

“Was the late Mr. Beilschmidt here the night he died?” he asks the bartender. “Gilbert Beilschmidt, I mean, not the grandfather.” It’s hardly a question worth asking; Gilbert owned the place, and everyone knows the man enjoyed his beer more than life itself. Vosh bets there's no beer in hell. Still, he wants to make it look like the cops are even farther behind than they really are, and one answer might lead to another.

The bartender looks up, then looks down, pulling a glass from the shelves beneath the bar. “Will that be water for you, sir?”

Vosh glares. He has a bottle of water with him, free from home. Why would he pay for water? “No, thank you. But I believe I just asked you a question. Nicely. I can ask a different way, or in a different setting, if you're disinclined to answer here.”

The bartender looks down again, nervous. He doesn't like cops. No one here does. “Yeah. He was here with Toni. Like always.” He shuffles to the next customer, resolving to ignore the cop until he goes away.

Still watching from the piano, Roderick almost feels bad for him – but not quite. Not the way he looks right now: glaring at the world, ready to snap like an angry cobra. The chief has lovely green eyes, but they're very unhappy right now. Roddy leans over, continuing his song one-handed as he speaks to the garcon, sending him a glass of sweet, heavy-tongued wine.

In another corner of the casino’s bar, Francis saunters over to Kiku, smiling at the gentlemen and ladies he passes. A few look his way, unable to help it, but as soon as they remember the cop in the background they go back to staring at their drinks and their cards, or the girls dancing on stage to Roddy's music. He takes a seat right next to Kiku, who is not getting any more bites than he is. That's very strange; what's bad business for them is _terrible_ business for some of their friends, the difference between eating, shelter, and drugs. The drugs always win. He leans in close, kissing Kiku’s ear and running long fingers over whatever skin he can find. “Mon ami, we must get rid of the policeman. Not just a policeman, but the chief! He must leave or we will all be that bitter at the end of the night.”

Kiku almost purrs under Francis' touch, so pleased that _he's_ touching him, and not simply because no one else is. Inclining his neck to let him taste the skin there, he crosses one of his legs over Frannie’s. “I see. This is most definitely troublesome.” He lets his half-lidded gaze follow the waiter as he places a glass in front of the chief, speaking to him in a low hum. Probably asking him very politely to take that drink somewhere else. Kiku sighs softly, moving his hand to press Francis' legs open and run his nails up his thigh. His eyes slide to the mirror above the bar, seeking to meet the chief's. “Hmm... Let's get him over here, shall we?”

Francis chuckles, shifting into the touch. He nibbles at his jaw, careful not to leave any marks - customers like Kiku's smooth skin and how easily it bruises. He's lucky they fade just as quickly. “I will bet you thirty dollars that man is straight as they come. Sesel or Liza will have better luck.”

Kiku smiles easily and turns to meet his eyes, if only to get those teeth off his skin. Any more of that and he'll have an ache that he'll have to hold Francis to. “Sesel and Liza have tried. Separately and together. It was a pretty sight, but they were left cold.” He leans up and runs his tongue over the shell of Frannie’s ear. “You will have to comfort them later. Only you can repair their bruised egos, you know.”

“Learn to say "Vous êtes la plus belle femme du monde" or "Je vous veux toujours," and it is easy. Best to say them with your mouth against their lips - and I mean either set.” He grins, looking into the mirror as he whispers to Kiku, hoping to catch Vosh's attention. The chief is oblivious. Of course. He sighs, pressing a last kiss to Kiku's shoulder. “We will have to try a more direct approach.” [1, 2]

Kiku sighs with him, tugging Francis' hair and dragging him down for another kiss just _there_ , a sweet-spot that is never teased enough. How the man constantly knows where to tease still eludes him. “Fine, fine.” Smirking just a little, he pulls the man's chin back up. “If one of us is taken without the other, rendezvous at yours at, say, three?”

“Eliza is beginning to think we are lovers. It is driving her to distraction, you know. She thinks we will leave. Let us give her some peace, non?” It is his turn to pull on Kiku's hair, just before standing. “And I have rendezvous already.” He always looks forward to meetings with Antonio, tonight especially. He has not yet recovered from the words they shared in the afternoon, and his feelings for the man are near to overwhelming. He promised Toni a special night, and a special night they shall have.

Kiku almost pouts. Almost. Of course they're not lovers. They can't be - they would kill each other. Besides, Francis has his Antonio, and he... He has his job. With a soft sigh, he rises to his feet and heads to the bar, leaning on the chair to the chief's left as Francis takes his right. “Good evening for a drink, isn't it?”

The drink was free from the piano player. A bribe to make Vosh leave, but that's not going to affect him. He'll take the free alcohol and ignore the request that goes with it. He has already had no less than five propositions and eight death threats. They are easy enough to ignore; nothing unexpected around here. At least he recognizes Francis and Kiku, and that means he knows how to handle them. He saw them less than a month ago when they were questioning everyone involved with the case. Both were distraught, and he's quite sure Francis was high out of his mind. Perhaps they'll be more helpful now, when they want something from him.

“Yes,” he answers at last.

Kiku leans over, smiling slightly and offering him a demure look. “Perhaps you would like to enjoy one with me on the patio? That particular red looks like it needs a breath of fresh air.”

Francis slides his good hand down the chief's spine, just enough for him to feel it. “Enjoy it with both of us. We can be very entertaining.” The hand wanders to Kiku, running over his chest in a way that forces him to lean in closer to their prey. Mm. He smells...clean. That's different, at least in this place where their customers smell like sweat or perfume and cologne.

Vosh hunkers down in his chair, just out of their reach. He won't get anything useful from them now. They're working. They're very good at it, he must admit, because he's flushed from the barest of suggestions. However, he's made a career of keeping a firm hold of his reactions. “A nice invitation, but I'm not interested.”

What? _What_? No - this isn't happening. Kiku is _nothing_ if not persistent. “Inspector, I am not always shy, as you know. So I will come out and say this.” He lets his hand fall to the chief's side, caressing, moving it down to his hip where he lets it stay. “I would like to see you naked. Very badly. So. What will convince you to leave with me? Us?”

At that Vosh does blush. It's been a long time since anyone has seen him naked. He's just...he doesn't have time for relationships, and there's a proper order to things. He wouldn't just have sex for the sake of it! _Especially_ not if it involved wasting money. “Please remove your hands from my person. Both of you.”

Impossible! _Everyone_ likes Francis’ hands, and he was even massaging the chief’s shoulder! He figured the man would at _least_ appreciate that much. Perhaps they need to be more subtle? He didn't say no, exactly. “Ah, we can be _very_ discreet if you like. Meet you later, somewhere quiet? We know plenty of places where we will go unnoticed. Our lips are...sealed, so to speak.”

Not fair. And _not_ funny. Kiku slides his hands away, leaning on the bar and affecting a look that displays just how offended he is. “Or you can continue to sit here trying to make friends with people who don't want to talk to you.”

Vosh raises his eyes, looking at them both but trying very hard not to really _look_ at them. He knows they're pretty, and right now they are showing it off. Still, there are principles he stands by, and he is a man of honor. “Did you want to talk? I am sure I can think of a few more questions for both of you, considering the fact that it is your lovers who are dead. Rather suspicious.” He knows he's struck a nerve, but it will be interesting to see what happens next. Kiku has a solid alibi in a customer. Francis does not.

Kiku gasps, so angry that he does not know how to speak. Just barely able to cover it, he turns away completely, squaring his jaw and remaining silent. They _must_ get this man out of the bar. But he can't even look at him right now without wanting to splash that drink in his face.

Francis comes close to decking the man, but he's only got one good arm and he doesn't want to chance breaking it on a face that never even cracks a smile. His demeanor instantly cools. “If you are here to make accusations, chief, make them. I assure you I can work just as well in handcuffs. I believe I have a few of your officers to thank for that, non?”

Vosh tightens his jaw. He knows very well his staff is compromised. But that is another matter, one to take up with the state. Again. “Then go bother them. I do not want what you're selling. Though rest assured, we will be talking again.”

“Oh, I look _forward_ to it.” Kiku slaps his hand to the bar, pushing off and leaving the lounge entirely. He's not in the mood for anything now. Since Hera died there has been a hole in his heart. It's not filling, it's not healing. It's gaping so wide that it feels like the wind could sail right through it. He moves past every john trying to catch his eye, not even letting Francis catch up.

“Kiku!” Francis tries to grab him, but it's too late. He's already gone. “Now you've done it, bastard,” he growls under his breath, moving away in turn. He'll have to check up on Kiku later, or find someone else to do so. Kiku went to ask for _Yao's_ help; that in itself is an indication that something is very, very wrong. The worst part is there is nothing he can do about it. Even if Yao finds the killer, no one can bring Heracles back from the dead.

The commotion has not gone unnoticed and Roderick smiles sadly, shaking his head at the sight. Those two are still so deep in their mourning that they cannot see straight. It is a terrible thing to lose the one you love in any fashion, but death is the worst of them all. As he nears the end of his set, he tries to think of all the people he has been with, wondering if any of them has ever affected him so, brought such love into his heart. Well… Perhaps one. But if it was love, he’d never know. He doubts he'd even recognize love, considering his parents. Selfish, narcissistic people who flitted from lover to lover and barely seemed to realize they had a child - a brilliant, sensitive child.

Francis takes a seat next to Roderick as he begins one more song, trying not to sulk. Sulking is not sexy, and he should be looking for a customer or two. Or three, four; however many will fit. In his schedule. “When I find Kiku, he owes me thirty dollars. The chief is as straight as they come. No. Asexual! I have made straight men _beg_.”

Roderick leans back a little, listening to Francis whine. Straight? His eyes shoot to the man again. “No, dear. Just choosy.” He takes the song into its crescendo, melting into it himself, enjoying the way the music washes over him almost more than he does a good orgasm. Speaking of those, he is definitely in need of some stress relief. “Is it busy at the Rainbow? I could use a busy night.”

Francis raises an eyebrow. “It will be, if we can get rid of _that_ one. If you want a room to work in, I am sure Liza will accommodate. Half the Rainbow is yours, after all.” He knows this chord. There's a duet line, if he remembers; they've played it before. He sits up straighter, fingers ghosting over the keys until he's sure he remembers. Then they play together. Musicians are sexy, and he's sure to attract attention this way.

Ah, there. The warmth, the intimate touch. And music. All of his favorite sensations. Leaning against Francis' good arm, Roderick continues with him, letting him touch his precious keys as intimately as if he were removing his clothes. “I want to play with someone.” _Someone who can turn me so inside out that I can't find my way right again._ That's not Francis. He's tried Francis, and as delightful as he was, he was still lacking.

Francis laughs. This is their type of making love; they've never quite clicked on the sex, but the music...oh yes. That is the way to seduce Roderick, and for Roderick to seduce everyone else. “You have the room in your palm, cheri. Take your pick. I will take the rest!”

Breathing out a laugh, Roddy lets the song crash into its finish, lacing one hand through Francis' to drag him into the final notes, letting him feel the music end with him, connect with it. God, that's sexy. Yes, he is in definite need of a busy night. “You know I will only pick a thoroughbred.” His eyes shoot to the chief, moping over wine that he will not drink. “I will see what I can do about your chief. In exchange, ask Toni to send me a case of Hermano Sastre. I am desperately in need of good Spanish wine.”

The notes carry through them, as good as any connection they've ever had. Francis laughs again, first for the joy of it and then at the ridiculousness of Roderick's statement. “Your bed will be very cold then! And you will have to pay _me_ for the wine; I am the one who will be convincing Toni to part with it, non?”

“A challenge, is it?” He turns on his stool, tipping his chin up because he knows Francis is touch-driven, and he has a feeling the man is about to take liberties. “Fair. If I do not succeed, have Liza give you my gold card for a day. Though I dread what you may do with it.”

Francis nearly claps his hands. This is turning out to be a rather good night after all. “Oh my dear, dread not! It will not be nearly so nasty as the things I could do with _you_.”

Roderick smirks softly, sliding from his bench. “That does not comfort me.” Unbuttoning his tails, he leaves them on the bench and moves to the bar, attracting the tender's attention immediately, as he always does. He is often treated as good as his cousins here. “Chardonnay, please.”

The presence of the pianist seems to put the rest of the bar at ease, and several patrons dare to edge closer to Vosh himself; likely because their idol is right next to him. He ignores the man, even as he tries to recall what he knows of him. Edelstein....something Edelstein. The casino's leading musician, a cousin of the Beilschmidts. Also a part-time prostitute, but it is said he engages in such pursuits with the same class he employs in everything else. He has no _apparent_ involvement with his friends’ low-brow pursuits, though he was a witness to an argument between the Beilschmidt brothers on the night Gilbert died. It is a sadly lacking report, in Vosh's opinion. But he is sadly lacking officers to conduct such detailed interviews.

The man is observing Roderick closely, taking in his best features - as most men do. He is certainly a thoroughbred himself; his parents were nothing if not blue-blooded. The chief must know that, among other things. He does not need to speak to him yet. The man will not respond well to the persistent approach others have tried and failed tonight. The glass is set before him, along with a plate of sliced fruit drizzled with honey.

Perhaps, Vosh thinks, he should try asking questions of this man who is so at ease by him. After all, if Roderick ( _that_ was the name!) knew Gilbert as well as it is said, he may be able to tell him something about the casino’s associates: someone bold enough to catch Bad-touch Gilbert off-guard, to shoot him point blank between the eyes. He must tread carefully though; this is real information, not simply a distraction that might lead to something. He hopes his officers are getting more than an earful of moans tonight.

It is taking so long for Vosh to speak that Roderick begins to get tense, and not simply because of the wait. The man's stare is low and cool and sexy. The kind of stare that takes no prisoners. He takes a sip, then sets the glass down. “Are you going to stare at me until I finish my snack, sir, or are you going to speak?”

“I can wait.” He has all night, after all. Tomorrow is his day off; he'll probably stop by the office anyway, as soon as his headache clears up enough for him to move.

Roderick raises an eyebrow, then slides his plate between them. “Then share. If you stare at me like that without doing anything else, the guards may think you're here to murder me.”

“I believe the city council would fire me for that. Though with the way things are going, one never knows.” He takes a slice of pear anyway. It's free food.

Roderick’s lips quirk and he finds himself almost smiling. His fingers find their way to another slice and he bites in, tasting fresh, sweet fruit. He loves this place. Even this feels like an indulgence. “Was that a joke, sir, or a sad truth?”

More of the second, probably, though Vosh will not admit to it. Only his dear little sister hears the full of his troubles, and sometimes he feels badly for dumping so much on her. But she is all he has; the rest of his family is far away, and phone bills are so expensive. “It depends upon who is laughing.”

“Isn't that just the way of things?” Especially for a whore. And a cop. The two jobs have far more in common than many would want to believe. Roderick finishes his half and takes another sip, dragging his finger through the honey on the plate. He will not lick it off. Something many of these whores don't realize is that it is sometimes better to let the mark's mind wallow on such things as _"He has honey on his finger."_ “I think you've spent a long night here being flashy and grumpy and brash. Must be a bit tiring.”

Why is that honey so distracting? It makes the slight almost a compliment. Well. He can take care of that. Vosh grabs a napkin from the bar and hands it to the man with all the grace afforded a silk handkerchief. “That is why I drink coffee, not...this.” He gestures to the alcohol.

Roderick looks down at the napkin, raising an eyebrow at it before pulling his finger from the pool of honey to the edge of the plate, creating a smear. “Coffee is delightful for the morning. But not at night.” He does not touch the napkin, but moves his clean hand to sip the wine.

Vosh raises an eyebrow. He wants to ask how the man ever manages to keep up with a customer if he does not drink coffee at night, but he is not so crass. No, he is busy watching the honeyed finger, imagining that it must look similar in...God, what is wrong with him? All these thoughts are highly inappropriate. Perhaps he _is_ getting tired. “What is the time?”

Roderick smiles, looking down at his pocket watch; he bought it on a whim one day because he'd always wanted one and fourteen carat gold suits everything. “Half-past time for all the good boys to go to bed, I should think.” He snaps it shut, finally taking the napkin and wiping the honey away, leaving just enough to make his nail shine. “Which means you are very much in need of that coffee.”

It's strange, but this is the most interesting conversation Vosh has had in a long time. He hasn't learned very much, but this man is intelligent and witty without being terribly annoying. Worth a little trouble to continue talking. “Then let's get some coffee.” He stands, leaving what can barely be considered a tip on the bar for causing trouble. “I'll have you know I mean actual coffee. Nothing else.”

Roderick supplements the tip with a more generous bill, not even bothering to see what paltry sum Vosh would've left. It is said that the man never leaves more than two dollars. “And just what are you implying?” He says it as though the thought hadn't crossed his mind. However, with the way the rump in those work slacks moves, he's surprised he could think of anything else. The chief has a physique that should break hearts. “If you're going to be rude, I don't have to join you.”

Vosh doesn't bother to turn around, observing the rest of the room as he passes with Mr. Edelstein in tow. There are sure to be rumors, and he intends to squash them with extreme prejudice. “I have been solicited no less than eight times tonight. I know you, too, sell sex. I am not interested in any of that. I would rather hear what you have to say about the late owner of this establishment. It would be nicer to talk over good coffee than over the shit they pass off as coffee down at the station.”

Oh, look at him, getting all bothered, as though he's never been seen with a man! Roderick almost laughs as he slips past him and holds the door open. Instead he lets his face remain a soft, easy grin. “After you, dear.” The world can think what they please. At this point, the only thing anyone knows is that they are leaving together. The rest will be woven in stories told all over town tonight, so that by morning it will be hard to escape them. He doesn't know why he's so excited. He should be frustrated, annoyed. And yet he isn't. Not at all.

Vosh glares and pushes past him, heading for his car. “Get in. We are _not_ staying around here.”

Roderick laughs, waiting for Vosh to open the door for him. “Would you rather take me somewhere else and let everyone there gawk at you, having coffee with a whore?” He says the word with a bite, slightly annoyed that the man would imply it; even though he _is_. He knows the man does not want to be seduced. However, he's still a little frustrated that his mark seems to have some choice in the matter.

“I have coffee with plenty of interesting people, including musicians. They often end up in jail the next day. Sometimes dead. Would you rather stay behind than be seen having coffee with the chief of police?” Inexplicably, to himself, at least, he opens the passenger door for him and holds out his hand.

Roderick takes the hand, helping himself into the passenger seat and shutting the door as he thinks this over. He is in a car with the chief of police. This could either end well, or very badly. “I'd rather we stopped referring to one another in the context of our professions. Though you might find that a little difficult.”

Vosh gets into the driver’s seat, buckles himself in, and stares at his passenger until he does the same. It is only when they are both safely restrained that he even starts the car. “Your job and mine are the reason we are talking right now. I can hardly stop thinking of us in that light. If it makes you feel better, it is your position at La Citta that I am interested in.”

Roderick laughs bitterly, his head falling back against the headrest, finally turning to look at him again. “You don't like us, do you? People who sell sex?” He smirks a little, reaching down to rest his honey-touched hand over the chief’s as it shifts the car out of park. “Thinking about it makes you uncomfortable.”

Vosh pulls his hand away, placing it firmly on the wheel as he drives. He's a cautious driver; his record is absolutely perfect, and he intends to keep it that way. The insurance is certainly cheaper. “I believe sex is a thing that should happen between two people who are prepared to commit to one another on a higher level. Perhaps not marriage, but certainly in a relationship they intend to continue.” Why is he even talking about this? He is the one who is supposed to be asking questions. And yet he continues, “There's an order to things, an order to romantic endeavors.”

“Ah, a gentleman.” Roddy smiles, placing his hands in his lap again and trying to remember the last time he encountered one of those. Never? Probably. The one he’d known before had been far from gentle in the end. It feels strange, being in the presence of a man who truly believes sex should be enjoyed only by lovers. “You must think very little of me.”

Vosh does not take his eyes off the road. It is dark, and he must be aware. There are always fools around this area at night. “I judge people for their choices when they are crimes. Prostitution is illegal, but as I am sure you are aware, we have larger problems. When those are solved, make no mistake that you will be arrested if you persist in disobeying the law. However,” he checks his mirrors, then looks back to the road, “a person is more complex than their choices alone.”

Roderick turns away, silent, staring out the window as he thinks on it. Of course. A person is always more complex than their choices. He isn't very fond of all of his own - the ones before he met Liza, for instance - but he likes to think he is more than what most people see. He chances a glance toward the chief, wondering about his choices, what led him to be what he is in this moment. But meeting his eyes in that mirror makes his breath catch. His eyes are magnificent. God, what just hit him? He turns away again, pressing his lips together and trying to slow his beating heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - You are the most beautiful woman in the world
> 
> 2 - I want you always


	18. What I Learned In School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After school, Raivis meets with Kaoru and Eduard meets with Emil to talk about home, family, and what the future may hold - or if there is a future at all for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just ONE CHAPTER LEFT until the end of _Ghost!_ Don't worry, the story of Monsters is far from over. No one has even died since the prologue, and we can't have that! There is plenty of mayhem and murder to come in **_Devil_ , Part 2 of the Monsterverse.**
> 
> In other news, we have **new art** on tumblr! It's completely unrelated to _Monsters_ , but it involves NSFW Hetalia, and who doesn't want to see Prussia all tied up?

They haven't spoken to each other for a full two days, and Eduard is starting to get worried. Well, angry and worried; he’s still annoyed with Raivis, but it’s turned more towards sadness. He misses him, misses being his friend. His brother. He’s asked Emil to meet him after class, hoping for some advice. But as he heads for their usual meeting spot, he sees Raivis at his locker.

To make matters worse, the minute he gets close the one textbook that wouldn’t fit in his bag finally manages to slip from his fingers and land with a loud THWACK on the floor, right next to Raivis. The boy jolts at the sound, whipping around to find Eduard staring at the floor. Sighing to himself, Raivis picks up the textbook and holds it out; it’s got to rate as one of their stranger peace offerings. “Hey.”

For a moment, Eddie forgets that he's supposed to take the book. Raivis gives him a look, and he blushes, pulling it back into his arms like a lost child. “Hey.”

“Advanced calc? I thought that was on Wednesdays?” Raivis asks softly, not sure he wants to have a conversation with him at all right now, except... well. He can never stay too angry with him.

“Oh, it is. But Nick needed help with some of the problems and I offered to meet him over lunch today. We've got a major exam coming up. It's like practice for the APs, and Nick really wants to do well on those. I think it's got something to do with his brother because he never cared that much before, and...” And he's babbling. Badly. Eduard shuts his mouth. It’s just _really_ nice to have a conversation with Raivis that doesn’t involve yelling or stupid Kaoru. He can’t deny that he's taken a great deal of pleasure in seeing the bad boy's nose all bandaged up, looking dumb instead of tough.

Raivis grins a little wider, watching him babble, wondering if Eddie knows that it makes his heart beat faster. Just seeing him flustered is enough to make him flustered too. “You're a good tutor.” He smiles, tucking some books into his backpack. “I should know.”

Eduard smiles back; thank God they're alright again. The tension has been so bad lately it's made it difficult to go home. “Yeah. How're classes going, by the way? I haven't heard about them in a while. You like your teachers?”

“They're okay. You were right, though. Mr. Jenkins is a real tool.” He bends over again, taking out the books he won't need for tonight to make room for the ones he will. “He keeps nitpicking my grammar. I'm like, "Dude, you're a history teacher. Grade the content, will you?"”

Eddie chuckles. “I do remember that. Glad I don't have him again! Emil does, and he said it doesn't get any better with...Oh!” He'd almost forgotten where he was heading. “Raiv, hey, I'll see you when we get picked up, right? I told Emi I'd meet him after class.”

Right. Fuck. There go all the nice, fuzzy feelings he just had. Raivis sneers, unable to help himself, and throws his backpack over his shoulder. “Right. I forgot. Ancient History's your favorite subject. Just keeps repeating itself.”  _'Ancient History'._ _Fucking Emil._ Rolling his eyes, he goes to slam his locker door and winds up spilling his entire bag on the floor. “Shit!” he curses, dropping to his knees to gather it all.

Everything pops like a balloon, and Eddie doesn't understand it. He's not the one who spent so many nights keeping Raivis awake while he slept with some junior dealer! It's not fair for him to get upset. Even if he _was_ seeing Emil romantically again, why should it matter to Raivis? He drops down anyway, helping him pick things up. “Why does it piss you off so much? I'm allowed to have friends, aren't I?”

Raivis yanks his stuff from Eddie’s hands and shoves it in his bag, not looking at him. “Sure. Everybody's entitled to their "friends". I'm just overstepping my boundaries, as fucking usual.”

Eduard reels back at the venom in his voice, then stands up, hefting the book in his arms. “Whatever. I'll see you later. Ivan's picking us up today, so don't be late, yeah?”

“ _Whatever_ ,” Raivis repeats. He slings his backpack over his shoulder again and heads out the door. Kaoru wants him out front for something. That should take his mind off fucking Eddie and Emil.

Kaoru is waiting in his car when Raivis gets outside. The first thing he does after sliding in next to him is touch his face, trying to see the bandaged nose. It looks bad. Kaoru is annoyed enough already, however, and pushes his hand away.

“Fuck, stop it-! It stings!” He pushes Raivis again, letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling of the car, wondering why he even bothers. Raivis isn't so much. He's cute, yeah, but there are cute things everywhere, and plenty of them come without psycho family baggage. “Your fucking 'daddy' did this shit, if you didn't know. Hope you're happy.”

“Jesus, why would I be happy?!” He throws his hands out in anger, peering over at him as though he's grown a couple of heads. “You're my boyfriend, I-” Kaoru rolls his eyes, and that makes his jaw set. Raivis scowls. “Okay. You know what? Fine.”

Kaoru breathes out slowly, then reaches over to grab his sleeve and pull him close again. “Don't be a dick. C'mere.” He leans over to kiss his lips, trying to ignore the pain in his nose. Raivis may have baggage and a near-impossible attitude, but he's kind of the best thing he's got going right now. “Sorry. I'm just pissed off. You okay?”

Raivis sinks into the kiss eagerly, happy to have it, to have someone who wants him enough to take him. God, Eddie kills his self-esteem. Breathing in slowly, he pulls back and rests his head on Kaoru’s shoulder. “Yeah. It's been a rough day.”

Kaoru snorts, rolling his eyes. Ninety percent of the time, ‘rough day’ is code for ‘Eddie's such a jerk.’ “Poindexter giving you a hard time?” He rests an arm around Raivis’ shoulders and pulls him a little closer. “Fuck it. Just 'cause he thinks he has the right to scold you, doesn't mean he does. He just doesn't understand you, babe.”

The more he listens to Kaoru, the more Raivis realizes he's talking out of his ass. Sometimes he wonders if Kaoru believes his own bullshit. Eddie _does_ understand him. He's the only one who ever has. Raivis sighs, looking out the window at the ugly brown school. “Do you think we'll ever get out of the city?”

Kaoru frowns, looking down at him, confused. “Who would want to?”

“I dunno,” he replies. It's all Eddie ever thinks about these days. It's all Eddie wants, except maybe Emil. He's in love with the idea of leaving - leaving Raivis. He thinks of his own future, of the possibility for something more than this. Raivis has dreams, too. He’s always loved to draw. He used to make little cartoons when he was younger to keep himself from thinking about hunger, to make Eddie smile. He'll never get the chance to do more at this rate; Ivan's got their future planned. Hell, Eddie and Emil are practically married in Ivan’s head. “Just wonder, sometimes.”

Kaoru sighs, tousling Raivis' hair. “Stop being silly, Raiv. We'll be together for a long time.”

More ass-talking. Raivis supposes Kaoru can't help it. Rolling his eyes, he remains silent and moves to cuddle close. This is the good thing about having a boyfriend; above all else, they're a great way to waste time.

XXX

Eduard finds Emil in their usual spot. It's one of the smaller classrooms with a crappy, ancient piano. That's pretty much all they have in the way of musical education. No one bothers to come in here; even the ones who can actually play don't want to use an instrument so out of tune. He sits next to Emil on the bench, putting his bag to the side and his book on top of the piano. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Emil is glad Eddie wanted to talk. It’s a good excuse to miss the bus, and he doesn't want to go home. Mattias will be there today, sleeping off whatever shit he took last night. Maybe there will be time for Luk to go out and pick up some real groceries. Or better yet, a different boyfriend.

Eduard almost laughs, leaning back against the piano. “God, this is so fucked up.”

“What happened?”

Eduard stares at the ceiling. There's some water stains that look like a world map. He tries to decide which countries they might be. There's a big splotch that looks like Russia, and those little Baltic countries next to it. Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. He remembers their flags, their stories, because for some reason they feel familiar. He and Raivis were born in America (probably). He has no knowledge of any other background. Ivan probably knows. He calls them Russian, but Eddie knows they aren't, because once when Ivan was angry he slipped up and called them ‘ _fake_ Russians,’ ‘disbanded Soviets.’ It makes him wonder how Ivan knows even that much. He sighs and forces his mind back on the matter at hand. “Been fighting with Raivis. It's killing me, because we used to be _so close_. Now, it's like we can't talk for more than five minutes without one of us freaking out.”

Emil considers this in silence. There's a difference between Raivis as he is now, and Raivis when they first met. He used to be this shy little kid, always with Eddie, dependent upon his brother. Eduard seemed to depend on him just as much. Later on it was a little hard to like Raivis when he kept following them, glaring at Emil when he was around. But he thinks he understands. He's a little brother too, after all, and he _hates_ Luk's boyfriend. Of course, he has good reason to, considering how Matt treats Lukas. He, on the other hand, would never hurt Eddie. He can't imagine...can't touch him, wouldn't dare to overstep the boundaries. He will not let them turn into monsters.

“It's probably your age,” Emil finally says. That's a stupid, simple answer, but it's fair enough. “You both want freedom, but you don't want to let go of one another, either.”

“That's true, but it's more than that. Something's really been bothering him, I think, but every time I try to ask he just shuts me out. All he does is go out with that fucker Kaoru, and he's way too young to be doing all the things I know they do!” He blushes a little at that, and Emil does too. Neither of them are particularly comfortable with sex.

“I don't think there's an age limit on that,” Emi mutters, staring down at his knees.

“Yeah.” Eddie looks down too. Their hands are right next to one another on the bench. If he shifted just a little he could squeeze Emil's, let him know that while it’s not alright, he's not alone. Instead he checks his watch. Ivan will be around soon; he's usually early, and he expects the boys to be there on Ivan time. “I should head out.”

Emil is disappointed because it means he'll make the next bus home, but he would never want to get Eddie in trouble with Ivan. The man is terrifying; all the more so because he seems to _like_ Emil. They both stand and make their way back through the halls.

XXX

Meanwhile, Raivis has been staring at the clock in the dash for the last ten minutes, ignoring everything out of Kaoru's mouth. Finally, the clock hits ten 'til, and he pushes away. “I've gotta go. Call you later?”

Kaoru frowns, but nods. “I'll drive you up.”

“It's okay.” He hops out, heading back toward the school. Ivan should be around front, acting like they've made him wait an eon. There he is, parked in his obscenely expensive car. Raivis waves to catch his attention.

Ivan scowls, about to lay into Raivis for sneaking off. Raivis _should_ be waiting in the school. Since he wasn’t, that probably means he is still with that damn brat of Yao's. He's going to have to break Kaoru's whole face next time, because it's quite clear his warning did not get through the boy’s thick skull. A glance back at the school instantly brightens his mood. Eduard is coming, and Emil is with him! This is a good sign. They're talking, walking together. Perhaps they've had a liaison of sorts? No, they haven't. Eduard isn't blushing, and that's a dead giveaway for him. Still, Emil looks reluctant to leave. This is wonderful!

“Good afternoon Emil! You are staying late today?” Ivan calls out with a grin, leaning out of his window.

“Um...homework,” Emil replies. Somehow the Russian's grin isn't so scary anymore, not when he has Mattias at home, getting worse every day. Ivan's never laid a hand on Eddie or Raivis.

“Good, good,” says Ivan. “You and my Eduard are such smart boys. Is good to see you together again - studying, I mean.” That is not what he means at all. He's surprised Emil hasn't already dashed off. That he is staying must mean he really does want to spend time with Eduard. He can help. He likes to help his sons succeed, so long as their successes fit into his plans. “Eduard, invite Emil to our house for dinner. It will be good to have him; big dinner tonight, everyone will be there! Toris too. Have you met Toris, Emil? He is my new assistant.”

Now Eduard blushes, trying to mouth subtle apologies to his friend. There's really no declining when Ivan puts out an invitation like that. “Would you, ah, like to come over? We can do homework, and, uh, play video games?”

_'And uh, play video games.’_ Raivis mentally imitates him. He slides into the front passenger seat, refusing to sit anywhere near Emil. He should've just stayed with Kaoru, gone home with him. Yao doesn't mind him so much. In fact, Yao seems pretty okay with him when he's there.

Well, Emil _was_ looking for a reason not to be at home. This is probably as good as it's going to get, and he has kind of missed spending time with Eddie. There's a stab of guilt when he remembers that he'll be leaving Lukas alone to deal with Matt, but he shoves it aside angrily. It's Luk's fault Matt is living in their apartment in the first place; he can deal with the bastard. “Okay.”

_"_ Good! I will help your Aunt Kat to cook, and there will be plenty of food. Vodka too. Get in.” As soon as the two boys are in his backseat and buckled up, Ivan locks the doors and pulls away, whistling to himself. This will be a very good night indeed – so long as the passenger in his trunk remains unconscious.


	19. The Extra Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toris and Emil join the Braginski family for a dinner they are sure not to forget. Somewhere below the floorboards, another guest is waiting in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well my lovelies, this is it! The last chapter of Ghost. **Thank you so much** for reading, reviewing, and sharing in this adventure with us! We hope you continue to join us for Part 2: _**Monsters: An AU - Devil**_. There is much more to come!
> 
> Unfortunately, we won't be doing an ask event on tumblr this round, since we have no asks to answer! We'll post some regular sketches instead :)

Although Ivan spends most of his time at the bar or 'out' these days, he does have a very nice house. It is, in fact, much more than a house. It has a yard, which is more than almost anyone in town can boast of, and a high fence surrounding an imposing structure. There's a sign over the gate that declares it to be Gaul Manor, though no one dares to refer to it as that anymore. It's Ivan's House. Johannes Gaul is rotting in the jail cell Roma Vargas exchanged for a grave, and there are no other Gauls around to claim the place. Ivan got it for a bargain; he's very good at bargains. It even came with a lot of the furniture, including a long oaken dining table that can seat fifteen when all of the extensions are in it. Right now he is sitting at the head, smiling over the gathered company. Katyusha to his right, Natalia to the left, Raivis beside Natalia, Eduard next to Kat, with Emil and Toris across from one another at the end. He grins wide. “Is so nice to have company over!”

Toris tries to smile, but it immediately withers under Natalia’s usual sneer. He feels like he's in a hornet's nest. At his side, the young boy Raivis glares back nastily, as though everything the girl does is poisonous. In fact, he's been looking damn near lethal since they arrived here. Whatever the hell is going on, Toris doesn't want any part of it. He just ducks his head and passes the rolls across the table to Emil. “This looks really good.”

Katyusha’s eyes grow teary with the praise. It's been so long since anyone complimented her cooking, or anything else about her that wasn't her fine physique. “Oh, thank you, Toris! I work so hard all day, I want to make this nice, and I...” She dabs her eyes. “I am so glad it came out just perfect!”

Blustering out a heavy sigh, Raivis rolls his eyes and lets his head fall back to stare at the cherubs on the ceiling. God he hates these dinners, especially because Ivan likes to hold them when Emil is here to see them be one big happy family, or what the fuck ever. His cell buzzes and he ignores it, half thinking about calling Kaoru and asking for a ride somewhere, anywhere else.

“It's good, Ms. Braginski. Thanks,” says Emil. It’s certainly better than all the frozen meals at home. Sometimes he cooks, or Lukas does, and on rare occasions Matt doesn't ruin it. Sometimes they can all sit together and eat. When Matt himself cooks, he doesn't cook for Emil; those are supposed to be 'romantic' dinners for the couple, and Emil is not invited. Luk swears that Mattias is not a good cook so he's not missing much. Emil never wants to be there anyway.

“Brother, I don't understand why you need to invite _these_ people,” says Natalia. By that, she mostly means Toris, but also Emil. And Eduard. And Raivis. And Kat too. “People who eat with us should at least be useful.”

“I don't understand why he invited _you_ , then.” Raivis glares daggers at her, taking a roll and slapping it on his plate. This is _so_ stupid. He wants out of here - it isn't fair. Why does he have to sit here and watch Eddie and Emil play-date?

“They _are_ useful, Natalia! They are our friends, practically family!” He smiles upon Toris and Emil. Very useful indeed. He hopes Toris will prove his worth tonight; he's got a job for him, when this dinner is done. Emil has a job, too: to be together with Eddie, especially in the future when things might change. At Raivis he glares. “Do not disrespect your aunt. Stop fidgeting, sit up straight! If you want to be useful, you must learn to command a _presence_ at the table. Do not sulk like a child.”

Raivis whips his head around and meets Ivan's eyes dead-on. For a moment he just glares, sitting up, not really sure why he's obeying any of those stupid orders. When he gets out of here... Who is he kidding? They’re never getting out of here. He drops his hands to the table, sits up straight, and turns back to his food, mentally snapping, _"Don't fucking ruin my life, then."_

Kat sits back, alarmed at the outburst on both sides and wondering if she can help. “I, ah, I used chicken stock to steam the broccoli. Tastes much better, da?” Smiling cheerily at the also-alarmed Toris, she offers him the bowl.

Toris takes the bowl, smiling sheepishly. Okay. So there are some definite issues in the Braginski household, and one is seated to his left. Raivis looks like he wants to decapitate Emil. Hell, he's ripping his chicken apart like it needs punishing. “Yeah, the chicken is really good, too. Thank you.” He sends the broccoli back after adding a couple of spoonfuls to his plate.

“You don't need to thank us for every little thing,” Raivis grumbles, stabbing his chicken. “Obviously, if you're invited to dinner, you're worth more than the people who just show up.”

Eduard glares at Raivis, probably taking more offense to his family's behavior than Emil is. It's just _embarrassing_. They need to find a way to sneak off. Too much homework, maybe?

“So! How is school today? Lots of homework?” says Ivan.

“Not really,” Emil mumbles.

_Damnit_.

“How's Ancient History, Eddie?” Raivis asks, half-bitter, half-sweet. The look in his eyes is all cold. He doesn't care that he's being a brat, doesn't care that he's embarrassing the whole fucking room, doesn't care that he's embarrassing Eddie. This is ridiculous. Ivan's set them all up like some wedding rehearsal dinner, and it's like he's waiting for Eddie to announce their engagement. When you've loved someone as long as Raivis has loved Eddie, and you're still treated like you should be at the kid's table, like everything you do is wrong, like you're the one doing something _bad_...it's enough to make you want to run away from home.

Ivan completely misses the innuendo. “Oh? I thought you had World History this year?”

Eduard flushes nearly crimson. “I do. Raivis is _confused_.” He tries to point out the obvious space between himself and Emil, and only succeeds in brushing his hand.

That does it. Raivis grits his teeth and pulls out his phone under the table, sending a text to Kaoru: "come get me." He doesn’t intend to return home until Ivan gets pissed enough to come looking. He breathes out slowly, stabbing the chicken with his fork.

Toris ducks his head, trying to ignore everything, anything, he sees. Beneath the table Raivis' phone lights up; he's going somewhere, apparently, because the text says "Be there in 20." Toris wonders what the penalty is for skipping out on dinner around here. He can't imagine Ivan will be very happy.

A glass thuds against the table, making Toris jump and nearly upset his plate. It’s only Ivan, finishing off what is certainly not his first drink. He starts to get up, but Natalia beats him to it. She brings the vodka bottle back to the table and leans in close to refill Ivan’s glass, her breasts pressing into his shoulder. “Dear Ivan, let me get that for you. You work so hard, you deserve to sit and relax with a nice drink. You should let me rub your shoulders; it will make you feel much better.”

Ivan squirms away from her, as uncomfortable as Toris has ever seen him. “No I do not think it will! Work is good, I like work. So no stress. Only stress comes from taking care of my family. I want to see my sisters and my sons happy.” He pats Natalia’s hand, easing her back into her seat. His eyes, however, settle on the end of the table. “Emil, I am glad you have come. You make Eddie smile. I am hoping Raivis finds such a good friend one day!”

The longer this continues, the less hungry Emil is; and it is not just because the food is filling him up. He glances sideways; Eduard is gripping the fork like he means to bend it in half, his cheeks a pretty, rosy color. Has he been talking about him like…that? They ended it mutually, they weren't interested in anything more than friends. He doesn't want a boyfriend. He doesn't want to be his brother - or worse, Mattias.

“Thank you,” Emil says at last. Then he goes back to eating, looking only at his plate.

That's it. Raivis gets up, bypasses Ivan without saying a word, and heads for his room. He can barely keep himself from punching a wall, and slamming the door is just not as satisfying. Grabbing his backpack, he stuffs his laptop and some extra clothes inside. Eddie's room has a fire escape, and they're connected by a bathroom. He's so out of here.

It is impossible for Natalia to hide her smirk, even as she bristles. “Such a rude boy! Ivan, you will have to punish him. He should not be allowed to stay here, or in the loft over the bar! Send him out, Ivan, we don't need rude children.”

“NO.” The word is thunderous, and it silences the whole table. Ivan smiles, showing a few too many teeth. “I love my sons. He is your nephew, Natalia, you must love him too, da? I apologize to our guests, but boys will be boys. I am sure you understand. I will speak with him later. Please, enjoy the rest of the meal!”

Kat pales at the thought of what Ivan's going to say to that poor boy. “More chicken, anyone?” She goes to grab the tray from the kitchen, just in time to see Raivis climbing down the fire escape. Good. With a relieved sigh, she brings the pan back to the table.

Toris looks up at the chicken. He shouldn't. It'll just prolong this, which is the last thing he wants. On the other hand, it's really good chicken. He hasn’t had truly homemade food in a long time. “I'll have a little piece, if there's enough for everyone.” Immediately he ducks his head, feeling like a fool.

That draws Ivan’s attention to his newest full-time employee. He beams over at him, happy to see him taking on second helpings. “Toris! I have been a bad host, neglecting you. Tell me, how is your Feliks? Better today?”

Toris’ eyes fall to the meat on his plate and he begins to cut it, slowly. “Yeah, he was pretty okay, I guess. A lot more animated than usual. Um...” He looks up. “Thank you for this. Again. It really is amazing.”

Natalia looks back and forth between the two, glaring. “Big brother is _very_ generous.”

“Da, da. Is fair trade, I should think. Oh! That reminds me. Toris, I have a job for you when dinner is done,” says Ivan.

Toris smiles a little. That's good. Something to take his mind off things. Jobs for Ivan haven't been so bad thus far. He's been an assistant of sorts, filing papers, making phone calls, stuffing envelopes - mindless work. Better than tending the bar six nights a week. “Sure. Just let me know what you want me to do.”

Kat finishes her plate and begins clearing the table. “I hope everyone enjoyed the food! I'm so glad I got to see everyone!” They have too few family dinners like this, with all of them sitting together.

“It was wonderful, Aunt Kat,” Eduard says, just for something to say. It is much easier to call Ivan's older sister 'aunt' than the younger, because Kat actually acts like one.

Kat reaches around and hugs him tight, squeezing him to her chest. “You are such a good boy, Eduard. And you, Emil!” She hugs him too.

“Ah, right,” says Eduard. His plate is empty, and so is Emil's. At least, they’re as empty as they're going to get. Unthinking, he grabs Emil's hand to pull him towards his room. They only stay above the bar on the nights Ivan thinks they will be safer there. Eduard never asks what they need to be safe from; he doesn't want to know. “We're going to go kill zombies.”

Ivan grins, waving after them. “Have fun! Make sure to get a lot of headshots. Is very important, or they will sometimes get up. Is true of zombies and people!”

Toris’ eyes widen; he refuses to think on that statement. He really, really didn't need to know that all the stuff he's been told about Ivan the Terrible is true. He'd been having a grand old time deluding himself until now. “Um, good luck?”

Ivan sits back and stretches out, quite satisfied with the evening. “Now then. Toris, if you are finished I will take you downstairs and show you your assignment. Is...a bit different, from what you have been doing, but not unusual at all.”

Downstairs? Well, it's not _Upstairs_. A shiver crawls through him at the thought. Being Upstairs with Ivan Braginski... So many things could go wrong, and yet imagining it is making him blush. “Sure.” Toris slides to his feet. “Anything in particular I need to bring?”

Ivan shrugs, tossing the end of his scarf over his shoulder as he stands and begins to lead the way to the basement. “Your resourcefulness. That is why I hired you - and your pretty face!” He laughs.

Natalia scowls, following close behind. However, she knows better than to interrupt Ivan when he is working. This boy may not realize it, but Ivan isn't playing anymore.

Toris blushes hotly. Why do comments like that just make his stomach twist? He should feel like punching the man. Slowly he follows, weaving through the basement and waiting until he's out of earshot to mutter, “Is that really why you hired me?”

There are a lot of little rooms in the basement. Ivan has found things in them that suggest he would have liked Mr. Gaul, had they not been enemies during that brief time they knew one another. The rooms are nice and thick, with locks on the outside. Mr. Gaul also left behind a fine collection of wine. It's gone to the bar now; Ivan has always preferred vodka.

“Ah! Here,” he says, pulling a set of keys from under his coat. The lock gives and he pushes the door open, stepping back to give Toris a good view. Inside a man is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, looking like he went a few rounds with a lead pipe. Which is exactly what happened.

Oh My God. That's... Oh My _God_ , the man looks like he's been beaten within an inch of his life! Toris freezes, staring wide-eyed and not saying a word, swallowing the bile in his throat. The man looks almost dead. Oh God - Is Ivan going to tell him to put the poor soul out of his misery? “... Ivan?”

For the moment Ivan ignores Toris and strides into the room. His guest is on the very edge of consciousness, so he takes a bucket of water from the corner and dumps it over the man's head. “Good evening Holly!” he says as the man splutters and chokes. “Thank you very much for your information, and for your patient waiting! You will be going now.” He gestures to Natalia, who cuts through the ropes with her knife. There's no point in fiddling with the knots; they won't come free, even for him. “Toris, clean up. I don't care how. Just take care of it.” Ivan doesn’t spare Toris or Holly another look. With a click of heels and the thud of boots, both of the Braginskis are gone.

Toris opens his mouth and shuts it the second "Holly" meets his eyes. He looks drunk. Or drugged. Or beaten to a delirious concussion. It's probably one of the last two, or both. _"Take care of it"._ Okay. Okay, he can do that. He... _Fuck_. He can't bring him to the hospital, the guy will call the cops. He can't bring him to his apartment either, the guy could die. Slowly, he reaches out and touches Holly’s leg, almost afraid to. “Can you walk?”

This has been the scariest night Holly’s had in a long, long time. The face before him is new, and it looks frightened but determined. There’s a gentleness to it that reminds him of someone else, someone his mind won’t grasp just now. That’s okay, he’s glad enough to know that Braginski isn’t having him shot and dumped (hopefully). Slowly, shakily, he nods, and that's when he feels arms wrap around his battered chest and pull him from the seat. He stumbles into the other man at first, dizzy. Soon they are moving, swaying together, heading out to the long driveway where Toris parked.

Toris gets the guy into his car and lays him down in the back, using both seat belts to secure him. His car is old, and it still has a childproof lock. He locks it, thanking his lucky stars and trying to think. They need to go somewhere where nobody asks questions. He thinks there is a place like that nearby. The guys at the bar always talk about this or that guy hitting the clinic when they'd been in a fight. Getting patched up for free, no questions, somewhere on…Belmont Avenue! That was it. He heads there now, praying someone there can tell him what to do.


	20. No Time to Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toris takes Holly to the clinic with a little help from Matthew. Suspicions fly: Berwald and Tino contemplate why the dealer ended up in need of their care, Matthew considers a connection to the Beilschmidt murders, and Toris wonders what he’s gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! 
> 
> After some deliberation and reader input, we decided that Ch. 18 was not a fitting ending, since none of the plot strings were resolved. Therefore, we have changed the break-up of our chapters and **_Ghost_ will continue**! We apologize for any confusion, and hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

Toris has been driving around the same block for twenty minutes, looking for the Clinic with no success. He'd fished through the victim’s ripped jeans and found his wallet while he was unconscious. The guy's name is apparently Holly Nethers, an unfortunate name for an unfortunate guy. Toris is close to freaking out; this is bad, bad, bad. Bad enough to make him really scared. The man keeps drifting in and out, and when he finally stops the car on the side of the road Toris realizes he has to do something drastic, now. There are a couple of guys chatting in an alley. He gets out, heading for them.

Matthew looks up as soon as he hears the car door and footsteps. It would be just his luck to get caught in the middle of some trouble, just when he was getting these junkies to talk a little. But the man that's coming toward them looks panicked. Frightened. Of course, fear can make some people _very_ dangerous. He stays put, letting the man come to them.

By the time Toris reaches the men, they're all looking at him very warily. Swallowing hard, he glances back toward the car. “Hey guys.” He tries to sound casual, even though every last nerve in his body is freaking the fuck out. “I need to find the Clinic. It's supposed to be on this street.”

“Fuck, man, you lookin' for the Good Doctor?” says a junkie, looking him up and down. There’s blood on Toris’ shirt, but no visible wounds. “You ain't out to cause trouble for the Doc, are ya?”

Toris’ eyes widen, and he raises his hands in defense. “No! God, no! I really need his help. My friend, he-” He looks toward the car again. “He's really banged up, and I don't know what to do. I can't take him to the hospital, I can't take him anywhere else - please!”

Matthew’s companions are zoning out again, pointing in vague directions that don't make much sense. Well, it's not like he was getting much from them anyway, and if someone needs help, that's more important. He vowed "to protect and serve," right? He snaps out of his dazed look and starts for the car, still a little wary. “Okay. I can take you there. It's a little farther up; there's a part where this street gets renamed, but Belmont starts again in another block.”

Thank God. At least, Toris thinks this is a good thing. He half-runs toward the car, praying this guy isn't going to try to hold him up or steal his car, or hates Holly and tries to kill him. When he gets in, he reaches in the back to check the man’s pulse. Holly opens his eyes. “Hey. We'll get you somewhere soon, alright? Okay?”

The pain is blocking out everything else, until Holly looks up and sees... Oh God... The guy. Matthew Kirk. He's sliding into the car, talking to the driver and telling him where to go. He opens his mouth, tries to speak, but he feels like his jaw isn't moving.

Mattie chances a glance back to see what they're dealing with. It takes him a moment to recognize Holly through the bruising, but when he does, he’s instantly leaning out of his seatbelt, checking the pulse for himself and looking him over. He doesn't know why seeing him like this sends such a panic through him. It's almost like seeing _Alfred_ back there. “Holly! What happened to you?”

Holly tries once again to speak, but the look in Mattie’s eyes takes away all conscious thought. He forgot how blue they were. Gorgeous blue, like the sky might be, far away from the city.

Toris looks from one passenger to the other. Clearly, they know each other. That should be more cause for worry, but he shakes it off. “He got in with some bad people. Tell me where to go?” They need to get him somewhere, fast. The man looks so pained... Fuck. What did he get himself into? Is he going to be doing this forever? Be Ivan's body man?

Mattie gives himself a mental shake. Now is the time to concentrate if he wants to be useful. “Next right, then the big driveway on the left. See right there? It's the cleanest thing on the street; you can't miss it.”

Toris pulls in and throws his car into park, half-afraid Holly has passed out again. He hasn't. He's too busy staring at their guest with wonder. “C'mon,” he mumbles as he drags him from the car and tries to help him to his feet.

Mattie comes around the other side to help hold Holly up. He speaks gently to Holly as they help him stumble toward the door. “Hey, we've got you, it's okay.”

Holly’s eyes remain on Matthew. He doesn't want to let him go again, not when he's so close he can smell a warm, sweet scent in his hair, can feel him pressing close in a way that makes him feel at ease. He leans on Mattie, breathing him in, because he can barely understand what's happened to him, let alone how he wound up here.

Inside the clinic, Berwald is working alone. All but one of last night's patients are gone, and the only reason the last one stayed is because he was too weak to struggle. The others will probably be back here soon enough; it's an endless cycle. In fact, there's another car now. He can hear the doors, then footsteps. Time to get ready for a fresh round. He heads for the door and peers out from beneath the front light; he only turns it off when his clinic is so full he's sure he cannot help another person, no matter how he'd like to. “What's wrong?”

“He's hurt,” says Toris, helping Holly up the step and into the building, holding him up as he stumbles. “I don't know how bad. I just-”He doesn't know how to finish that. “Brought him here.” Holly swerves, but he manages to drag him inside with help from the junkie.

Bernie grunts in acknowledgement, wishing he had Tino to help him with a stretcher. For now any thoughts of the nurse must be shoved to the back of his mind. There's work to do. He leads the way to one of the freshly cleaned patient beds, leaving the strangers to set Holly on it while he gets his equipment together. He pushes the fact that Holly is a friend of sorts into the same part of his brain Tino is occupying; it’s getting rather crowded there. As soon as he has nothing to think about, this will be one hell of a headache.

Holly is flopped onto something cool and soft. His bed? No. Someone's, not his. A moment later he sees Bernie's face above him, partially covered by a medical mask. Oh. That makes more sense. Somebody brought him to the clinic. Is it that bad? He can't tell anymore.

Matthew has never met ‘the Good Doctor’ himself, but he's heard enough about him to respect the fact that he's in the man's presence. There's an unspoken agreement at the station to leave the 'charity house' alone, and ignore any incongruity in their activities. Mr. - _Dr_. Oxenstierna seems to do a hell of a lot more good than the police, despite his less than legal practice. Mattie helps Holly settle onto the bed, carefully peeling away his long coat. It reminds him of that prostitute, Francis. He never did get his coat back.

Mask and gloves in place, Berwald shoos away the strangers, mentally cataloging their faces. Most of the time he sees the same group of people coming around, taking turns as patient and driver, so the newcomers stand out. It's unlikely this will be their last visit. “Holly. Need ya t'stay awake. S'gonna hurt a bit, but I'm all stocked so I might give y'meds t'help. Y'on anything? Tell the truth.”

Holly was hung over when he got up this afternoon. Well, he didn't get up. He was _taken_ up. Someone dragged him out in his sleep pants and t-shirt, then threw him in the trunk of some car. He didn't have _time_ to take anything to dull the pain. Shaking his head slowly, he lets his head fall back and tries to concentrate on seeing one of everything instead of two or three. His vision has been blurring in and out.

Out in the front room, Matthew and the driver are pointedly observing one another without actually looking. Mattie is worried about Holly, far more than he should be for someone who is really just a stranger. The man looked like he'd been beaten pretty badly; must've gotten into a fight with another dealer - or someone else entirely. Someone looking for information, or looking to cover up information? He takes a closer look at the driver who is, after all, covered in the drug dealer's blood. The man's hands are shaking. He doesn't seem the type to do this; doesn't look like he has the strength for blows like that. “Hey. You...you did good, to help him.”

Toris whips his head up to look at the man he's been trying to ignore all night. Truth is, he's far too clean to be a junkie like he's pretending. It doesn't matter how low he makes himself look, it’s clear he's not interested in getting high; which means he's dealing with a poseur or a cop. With his luck, it’s the latter. “Thanks. I... Thank you.” He doesn't know what else to say. He doesn't want to say anything at all. He's too damn scared. All he keeps thinking is: _"Why did I do this? Why didn't I just let things stay as they were?"_

Mattie nods. “No problem.” There is another space of silence, which he uses to look around the clinic itself. There's a hallway leading to the front door, then a living/dining area connected to an open kitchen. Behind him are a roped-off staircase and the hallway to the patient rooms. That hall has been tiled over and painted white, looking very much like a hospital - though that may just be the overpowering smell of antiseptic. The walls around the waiting room are filled with pictures of a happy family: the doctor, his husband, and a child. There are no signs that a child ever lived here, however. He wasn't around when the clinic opened, but the fact that the older officers don't talk about it says enough. That’s enough wondering for one day. He holds out his hand to the driver. “Um, I'm Matthew, by the way.”

“Ah- Toris.” Toris shakes the man's hand, trying to think of something to say. “Um. Thanks for helping me get here.  I had no idea what I was doing, and I really needed to...” He swallows and looks toward the examining room, half-afraid that the man he was supposed to get rid of is... actually gotten rid of.

That name is familiar, and something about the man is too. Mattie doesn't usually forget faces, so he doesn't think they've actually met, but then it hits him. He’s seen the man pictured alongside the bar owner in a case file. “You work at the bar, don't you?”

“Yeah.” Toris sits back, looking the guy over. “I'm sorry, are you a regular? I'm not really good with faces.” He's lying through his teeth. If he's good with anything, it's people.

“No, I went in a couple of times. Haven't been since the owner changed,” says Matthew, smooth as he can.

Toris breathes in, something about this whole situation making his instincts tingle. Either this is one coherent junkie, or someone's watching Ivan and the whole bar with him. He decides to test a theory. “I wasn't at the bar before the owner changed. Mostly in the stock room.” In his pocket, his phone buzzes. He yanks it out, smiling at the sight of the name.

_xoFeliksxo:  Coming aftr work 2night?_

_Toris: soon as I can <3  _

“Must've been on a busy night, then.” Mattie frowns, beginning to wonder if Toris is hiding something. Could that triple homicide have been an inside job? Maybe Braginski gave Toris a better offer, in exchange for taking out Hans Beilschmidt and anyone else in the way. Something about it doesn’t add up, but he’ll tell the chief they need to have eyes on this one. Toris is smiling now, though, and it really brightens the man's whole face.

_xoFeliksxo: Good bc i miss u. *kisses*_

_Toris: *kisses*_

“Maybe.” Toris puts the phone back in his pocket and turns back to Matthew, not really looking at him but not ignoring him either. “You must know him. You knew him right off. Is he a good guy?”

The sudden change in topic throws Mattie, and it takes him a moment to catch up. “I...well, I don't know him, really. He's just my dealer.” A good guy? He wonders that himself. Holly didn't seem to be particularly cruel or wicked, but good? Can a drug dealer be a good guy? Alfred would say no; Al's always had a black and white moral sense. Police are the heroes, dealers are the bad guys. Mattie was the same way for a while. Now that he's been out in the field he's not so sure the difference between good and evil is so easy to spot - if there really is a difference at all.

“S’alright.”

Both Mattie and Toris jump, turning to see the Good Doctor loom out of the hallway behind them. Berwald continues, apparently unfazed by their fright. “S'banged up. Couple of broken ribs, lots of bruises and cuts, so some stitches, but it could’ve be worse. Thanks for takin' him here. S'...a friend.”

Toris nods and stands slowly, not sure what else to do. Should he leave? Would that look suspicious? “Is he okay to stay? I don't know where he lives or anything.”

Berwald raises an eyebrow. Clearly the man is new to this; otherwise he would've dropped the stranger on his doorstep and driven off without a word or a care. “'Course. Wouldn't let him leave now anyway.” He eyes the blood on Toris’ shirt. “Y'alright? Hurt? Y'don't have t'pay, if y're worried.”

“No, no, I wasn't...” Involved? Is that the right word? “…involved.” It seems to work, and he steps back out of the doctor's shadow. “It's just, I have to go, and I didn't know what to do.”

It almost seems like the man's on something, the way he's tripping over his words. Bernie narrows his eyes. Junkies are fine, he can't change their habits so he lets them be. But he does not allow anyone who isn't completely sober to leave his clinic with car keys in their hand. He stares hard at the man. The doctor is an intimidating figure when he's not trying; when he makes this face, even the hardest thugs tend to cower. “Y'high? Y'can walk if y're high. Leave y're keys in the safe and come back tomorrow.”

“God no!” Toris shouts. “I don't touch the stuff!” He steps back, half-cowering under the weight of the doctor's eyes. He's terrifying. In fact, he's more terrifying than Ivan at this moment. Ivan... Shit. “I just - I have to go.”

“Don't lie!” Bernie growls. There are two things that get him angry. Mattias (with Tino, hurting Tino, hurting Lukas, still after Tino), and people who drive when they shouldn't. Having to deal with both in a matter of days is putting his patience to the test.

Mattie steps between them. “S-sir! He's not lying! He drove over, and he was fine!” He's very good at telling when a person isn't in their right mind. Toris is frightened, but all there.

“I'm not high!” Toris pulls up his sleeves and turns his hands over, showing off the lack of track marks or stains on his fingers. “I don't do that stuff, I swear! You can test me! But I'm sorry, I _need_ to get out of here. My boss will kill me if I stick around here with a-” _Cop_. He breaks off before he says it, half looking toward Matthew, not really sure how to get out of this. “And my boyfriend, I need to—”

Tino pushes through the back door, dropping more supplies on the dining room table and calling out for Bernie until he reaches the waiting room. “I'm so sorry, I got held over, I- _Toris_?!” He freezes. The poor guy looks positively petrified under Bernie's gaze. “Oh My God, is everything okay? Is it Feliks?”

Toris looks up fast, thanking heaven that the face he sees is a familiar one. He’d forgotten Tino volunteered here sometimes. “No, no, it's something else. I need to see Feliks, though.”

“Go!” He whips out his phone, texting a nurse on duty. “Mona will get you past security.”

Mattie has no idea what's going on anymore. He backs off and just watches, hoping he'll get the chance to text Alfred about this little incident. He wants to see Holly, too. He needs to know that he's okay. Plus, it's easier to get information out of people when they're not thinking straight. He should be focused on the second one.

Berwald pushes the glasses back up his nose, watching the driver practically flee his house. “Who?” He asks once the commotion has died down.

“Toris,” says Tino. “I've told you about Feliks, right? My favorite patient? That's his boyfriend.” Pocketing the phone, he looks toward the other guy, who kind of looks like a junkie twink. “You high?”

Matthew is quite tempted to answer yes. But he really wants to talk to Holly. “No. Can I see Holly? He was...he's been good to me, I guess.”

“Who?” Tino looks up at Bernie, waiting for a clue-in.

“Came in with Holly,” says Berwald. His stare turns to their other guest. “Y'hurt?”

Mattie shakes his head, backing up just a little under the intense gaze. “No. I was talking to some...acquaintances. Toris was asking for directions. I brought him here.” He takes a breath, trying to regain his full composure. “May I see Holly?”

The doctor’s eyes narrow. There's something just a tad off about this. However, he's not one to ask too many questions. If Holly owes someone drugs or money, that's his business. Bernie can only keep the dealer safe while he remains in his 'sanctuary.'  “There're rules. No weapons, no fights, no business. Y'can see him later if he owes y'somethin'. S'not got much on him now, anyway.”

“That's not what I meant! I just...oh maple. I'm worried about him. He seems like...like a good guy.” It's the best Mattie can come up with, and he ends up muttering it to the floor with a heavy blush.

Tino raises his eyebrows. “If you have a chart back there, I'll just go check him?” He thumbs toward the examining room, wanting to stay out of the way.

The blush on Mattie’s face is almost enough to make Bernie smile. Most of Holly’s followers are infatuated with the drugs, not the dealer himself. “Go ahead, Tino. Take this one with y'. Y'can keep an eye on 'im. I'll make food; y'look tired.”

Tino smiles a little. “I'm fine! You don't have to!” But Bernie’s already headed for the kitchen. Ah well. Time to focus on the junkie, who is blushing and taking surreptitious glances toward the patient rooms. “You want some water? You look like you've had a shock.”

Tino stops to offer the man a little paper cup of water from the sink before he leads him into the examining room. It’s only then the _who_ of the situation really registers. Holly! His eyes widen at the sight of him so banged up, bare-chested and littered with bruises. It looks like Bernie had to stitch him up in at least a half-dozen places, although his tattoos are intact. Too intact: like someone worked around them. At least he seems to be sleeping well enough.

“I wish I knew what happened to him,” says Matthew. “You think someone tried to rob him? He doesn't have his stash.”

Tino’s eyes narrow as he steps toward the man on the bed, looking him over slowly. The cuts are exact; some of them literally outline the tattoos. There's also that tell-tale bruising on the chin from a pipe. “This wasn't a mugging.”

“Then what...?” Mattie takes a step closer.  It takes him a moment to make out the mark, but once he does understanding comes quickly. He cannot act like he knows Ivan Braginski's signature, however, and he wants to see what the nurse will do with all of this. _Alfred, I hope you know what you're doing over there._

“It looks to me, in my honest medical and personal opinion, like your friend got in with the wrong people. So I highly suggest that you let him know that, as his friend, you'd rather not see him dead,” says Tino. He checks the pipe-shaped bruise again and makes a note of it on the chart.

“We...” _aren't friends._ That's what Mattie is supposed to say. What comes out is different. “Okay.” There's a moment of silence as he stares down at the broken drug dealer who is, quite suddenly, his friend. “Hey, you don't think this has anything to do with Gilbert, do you? I mean, I know Holly knew him.”

“God knows.” Tino shrugs, moving back toward the powder room to wash his hands and put on latex gloves. He knows Bernie took care of this guy, but he wants to make absolutely sure that he caught everything. They always double-check each other. “Given your friend's line of work, and the... whatever it is going on between the gangs in this town, I'd say he just got caught in the middle of Drugs versus Guns. That's apparently the latest.”

Mattie files the conversation away. The clinic folks seem like a good resource, as long as he doesn't push the wrong buttons. They probably have a clearer view of things than they realize. “Can I stay here?” For research. That's what he'll be telling Vosh and his partners, anyway.

Tino raises an eyebrow, looking toward the man and finding him slightly red in the face. “You can. But if you try to strangle him in his sleep or rob our supplies, we're kicking you out and banning you. That's the rule.”

“I promise,” says Matthew. “I just want to sit.” _And listen, watch, wait._ Eventually he'll put this together. He just hopes he manages to figure things out before it’s too late and a full-blown gang war breaks out.


	21. The Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation between Ivan Braginski and Yao Wang does not go as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoy the chapter, lovely readers!
> 
> A note on names:  
>  **Sebastian** \- Yao's butler. ( _Black Butler_ cameo)  
>  **Grell** \- Ivan's guard. ( _Black Butler_ cameo)
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia or Black Butler.

Ivan is at the end of what he has always considered to be a remarkable amount of patience. One of his best drivers turned up dead, his shipment nowhere to be found. To make matters worse, Raivis has also disappeared from his room, by all accounts headed off in Kaoru’s car. He really needs to get a permanent guardian for the boys; perhaps Toris would like the job, when he’s not busy with…other tasks. For the moment, it is time for Ivan to confront the source of his frustrations.

He brings some of his best employees with him. They are dangerous men and women; smart enough to keep up but not so much as to question him. Armed with his pipe and plenty of guns beneath his coat, Ivan steps out of his car and glares at the gates to Yao Wang's home. They’re terribly gaudy; there are even dragons with wide mouths and lots of teeth mounted on the fence. He smiles for the security camera, aims his gun at the guard on duty, and shoots. The man falls onto the buttons, and the gate swings open for them.

Yao’s butler, one Sebastian Michaelis, is surprised to find Ivan Braginski making his way toward their doorstep, but not overly worried and not at all sorry to see the lazy guard go. Pressing the call button on his wristwatch, he catches his master's attention. “Sir. It appears the gun fellows have arrived for a chat.”

After hearing an easy, _"Welcome them!",_ he presses the button for the outside intercom. “Good evening, gentlemen. We are certainly glad to welcome you. Please, discard your weapons and allow me to escort you inside.”

“Eh, do you think it's fair that we have to drop our weapons, when they must have some inside?” Ivan asks one of his men.

“No, sir.” The big man cocks his weapon. It's unnecessarily large, but its purpose is more intimidation than practicality.

“You see?” Ivan says to the little monitor. “My companions are thinking that is unfair. You leave all of your weapons outside, and we will leave ours.”

Sebastian smiles easily, enjoying the banter from someone who is so calmly furious. “Fairness is not yours to decide when you barge onto someone else's property, sir.” He presses a button, alerting the snipers hidden in the upper slant of the roof. They don't use laser sights. They don't need them. One fires, and the first gunman hits the ground.

Ivan stares at the dead man. This is why he did not bring Natalia. Or Toris. Or anyone he particularly likes. Granted, that's a very short list. He turns to another comrade. “Do you think that's right?”

“Sir, we don’t need weapons to kill little snakes,” she replies, squeezing her fist.

Ivan grins. “Alright then! But I will not part with my walking stick. An old injury, you know.” He leans on the waterpipe, even as he opens his coat and begins pulling guns, knives, and ammunition from under it. His comrades follow suit.

Sebastian waits until they are finished disarming – at least, as much as he expects them to disarm - before he opens the door. “Thank you for your cooperation.” He smiles at them, especially the red-headed girl who deposited a chainsaw on the doorstep and is now openly ogling him. He is a striking figure; tall in his neatly pressed black suit. “Please come in. The master is in the parlor.”

Ivan elbows the girl. He likes Grell; she's got a bloodlust to rival his own and hair the color of a beating heart. But sometimes she's a bit too enthusiastic. He never should have okayed the chain saw. The only thing that seems to ease her parting with it is the butler in the door. He draws himself up as he enters, still leaning slightly on the pipe. It makes a nice ring every time it taps against the floor. “Excellent. There will be vodka, da?”

“Indeed,” says Sebastian. He walks alongside the red-head, giving her a glance or two out of the corner of his eye. “We have an excellent bartender on staff. He can mix whatever you would like. Or, perhaps the lady would like some wine?” He offers her his arm when they reach the steps.

Grell pushes a pair of outlandish glasses up her nose and winks at the butler. ” _Vodka_ , darling.”

Sebastian smiles, eyes flashing from beneath wisps of black hair. “As the lady wishes.”

Ivan growls under his breath. At least he has a few other companions who are not so easily swayed by the butler. He barges his way into the parlor, pausing a moment to observe from the doorway. Yao's 'friends' are all around, talking, smoking, playing some game with tiles. Most are armed, but even from here he can tell the quality of their weapons is only so-so. Yao Wang himself is lounging across a couch, toying with a gun that is _very_ familiar. It belonged, until recently, to his best driver. “Good evening. So nice to see someone with time to play,” says Ivan.

Yao glares at the butler who did _not_ offer them a proper entrance, and therefore did _not_ give him time to make his men more alert. Sebastian is too busy escorting a lovely little thug to the nearest  settee. Ivan Braginski himself is a sight to behold. Silver hair, violet eyes. A wicked smile, to be sure. Their eyes meet, and there is a moment when it is hard to remember who he is. They have seen each other before, but only in passing; this is the first time that Ivan has actually come to see him in person.

“I have done my share of working today. As, I am sure, have you. The night is when people play.” Yao smirks, waving his new favorite gun. “Why do your men get all the best toys?”

“Because I know how to get them, and because my comrades know how to use them. I would be careful with that particular model; it has a nasty backfire.” The Dragon is as beautiful as they say, with long hair spilling over the edge of the couch, black as midnight and smooth as silk, and brown eyes that make it hard to look away. So Ivan doesn't. Most are uncomfortable when he stares, anyway, and it's fun to watch them squirm.

Yao looks down at the gun, frowning a little. “Really? I did not feel it when I used it this morning.” He aims it at the Russian. “Should I try it again?” He smiles easily, because they both know he won't shoot. Not unless Ivan is _extremely_ stupid.

Ivan shrugs. “If you would like to put a hole in your walls. I am not here to play. I have received some messages from you, and as you have just one nephew I thought it best to deliver my response in person.”

Yao’s jaw sets. “You delivered one already. I have replied. We have nothing more to discuss, unless your business continues to encroach on mine.” It is imperative that he make this clear. His dealers want to obey him, but they fear Ivan like he is some boogie man from their nightmares. The man's gun sellers often strong-arm drugs from the dealers and refuse to pay. He wants them gone.

Ivan chuckles, a sound that is more like ice cracking - _kolkolkol_. “Is not my fault if your business is bad. Besides, is _your_ business that is encroaching on mine. The next time your nephew corrupts my son, I will send him home in a box, piece by piece.” He reaches into his pocket and tosses a small box into Yao's lap. It contains a set of eyes; they do not belong to the nephew, but they are the same color as his.

Yao looks in the box, and smiles. He knows it is a trick, for more than one reason. First, Kaoru's eyes are not that shade of brown. Second, if someone had removed Kaoru's eyes, he would've heard about it much sooner. He has the boy so closely followed these days it's a wonder he has anyone left to sell drugs. “You shouldn't have. They're lovely.” He sets the box aside and leans on his hand. “Kaoru does not intend to keep your little boy for long. But they do make an adorable couple. I am sure you had some young man to tongue your balls when you were his age. Surely, you know this is normal for boys like them.”

“Of course. You had your brother, da? Then again, so has everyone else.” That is a lovely shade of pink on Yao. The rise of color in his cheeks just brings out how lovely his complexion is. He's going to have to see if he can make it burn brighter. “Raivis, however, deserves better. Someone less...annoying. Is a shame you taught your nephew nothing of good manners.”

Yao’s smile fades. How dare he mention Kiku? Of course, he is correct – on every level. Still, he will not allow this man to have the upper hand. “I am sorry you taught your son nothing of virtue. Apparently asking him out for coffee has him ass-up in the back of a car ten minutes later.”

Ivan is going to have to hit something now. Otherwise he will explode, and that will end badly for everyone. Thankfully, one of Yao's friends is trying to inch closer to him, perhaps with the intention to do him harm. It's a good enough excuse to whip his pipe sideways and slam it into the man's chest. He'll never get tired of listening to ribs crack like that. It makes him feel much better.

Yao watches the man crumple, impressed and a little worried. He does not need this to turn into a war. In fact, something in his blood is calling for things that are very much at the opposite end of that spectrum. He looks to Sebastian, who is talking to the gunwoman over her vodka. “I want everyone out. Leave us. Alone.” The 'alone' pertains to cameras. If he's going to kill or be killed, he doesn’t want anything recording it. His men file out, and Sebastian herds Ivan's thugs with them. Soon the doors slam, and he lets his eyes climb back to Ivan.

“Your nephew takes advantage,” says Ivan. “Is not gentlemanly at all.” Not like Emil, who took a month to kiss Eduard, and _still_ hasn't gone all the way. There's a gentleman! Though he does wish they would hurry things along at this point. He needs to be sure they are compatible enough for his future plans, and really, if Eddie's still a virgin when he turns eighteen next month he's going to have to hire someone to fix that. It's like vodka; you have to learn to hold your own in order to make certain business ventures.

“My nephew takes advantage. And so do you,” says Yao.

“Not of little boys. Not like that.” He takes a seat next to Yao on the couch, so close they are nearly touching. It makes most people uncomfortable, yet with Yao he also _wants_ to be closer. When Yao's hand brushes up against his it is just as soft as he expected, although he notes the fingers are stained from Yao’s recreations.

The closeness does not bother Yao; quite the opposite. He lets his hand brush over the back of Ivan’s scarf as he rests an arm around his shoulder. “It is true, they are young for such things. But they know that they are not in love. They will break up very soon without your help. You will see.”

“Really?” Ivan asks seriously, almost encouraged by this. Raivis is certainly not a fool. The boy probably sees that Kaoru is playing him for sex just as well as anyone else. Perhaps the manipulation is, in fact, the other way around. His heart swells with pride. “Good. I do not like your nephew.”

Yao smiles tepidly, their bodies pressing together just enough for him to feel every inch of Ivan’s side. Ivan is warm, and up close his face is sweet. “Good. Making people dislike you is a fine trait to master.” His hand drags almost affectionately over Ivan’s shoulders. “I can only guess what you think of me.”

Ivan grins, running his hand up Yao's leg. “If you knew what I thought it would be very bad for business.”

“Or very good,” Yao replies, slowly hooking his leg over Ivan’s. His hand moves too, carefully sliding around to touch beneath the Russian's chin. He leans in and presses their lips together, soft and whisper-quick, giving him the chance to back out, to push him away, hit him with that pipe. “Am I on the right track?”

The kiss is unexpected - dangerous, even. It definitely pushes at boundaries that should not be crossed. Ivan likes dangerous things. He has learned caution, though, and he is not fool enough to be seduced into complacency. He stands, pipe in hand, and fast as lightning jabs the end of it between Yao's legs, less than an inch from some very sensitive organs. “I am seeing where your nephew gets it from. Your intentions?”

Yao is surprised by the move, and even more surprised at the way it drags at his nerves, making him want to push back. He's never been turned down before. This is new and enthralling. “With business, or with you?” he asks, sliding his pelvis beneath the pipe and holding it against himself. This is dangerous. He's charmed, like a snake by the piper. However, this manipulation can work both ways His hips rock once against the metal. “I am not a whore. I do not mix my business with my love affairs, even if they connect from time to time.”

“Nor I. But this is not a love affair. I hate you,” Ivan says matter-of-factly. They've killed and maimed each other's men, and stolen property and customers for years now, all without meeting for more than a few moments. Ivan had always expected that when they did meet like this, one of them would die. This alternative is very strange.

Yao rolls his eyes, leaning back on the couch and crossing his legs to trap the pipe. He could probably get it out of Ivan’s hands if he needed to. “You've never met me. You've only dealt with me in business, which, I can assure you, is nothing like taking me to bed. I did not get where I am by spreading my legs. But if you believe that is who I am, allow me to apologize and return to the business at hand.”

Ivan could say many things here regarding the Wangs’ history. He could talk about the sister, Mai, who begot a bastard, the bastard brother who _is_ a whore, the eccentric, rarely seen youngest brother who...well, actually, Ivan knows very little of Im Yong Soo, other than the fact that Yao avoids him. Supposedly there is another sister as well, but she keeps herself well away from the others. He knows they are Chinese immigrants, that the family was rich but came under some sort of dishonor at home - likely named Kiku. He could rattle off details about their business successes and failures. Yet now, none of it seems to apply. He is stunned to silence, and that in itself is so rare a feat that he has to be impressed. “You are a curious study, Mr. Wang. I am not sure if you mean to kill me or invite me to bed. Or both.”

Yao shakes his head slowly, trying not to smile. Ivan Braginski saying such things is like the pot calling the kettle black. Such an utterly lethal man, with a reputation like the one he's been branded with, is a rare man indeed. Of the those Yao has encountered, this is the first that makes his stomach quiver. “That depends on you.” He twists, pulling the pipe from Ivan’s grasp and grabbing the hooked end to lean on. “I want you dead for what your men do to mine, and for what you did to my nephew. But that is business that we can take care of right now.”

“I am thinking your more romantic interests would not benefit from that, unless you enjoy fucking corpses.” Ivan smiles widely. This is more fun than he's had in ages. “I would see you pay for what you and yours have done to _my_ men, and for the corruption of my son. But I like talking to you. Is a problem.”

“I will not pay for what my men have done. Yours have done worse. As for your son... I apologize.” He offers a hand, not really caring if Ivan shakes it or chooses to break his fingers instead. “I will see to it that Kaoru learns to be a gentleman.”

Ivan eyes the hand, taking a moment to consider things. Kaoru a gentleman? Unlikely. But still, it might mean one less plague around his house. “Very well. I will talk to my men and tell them to play nice – and if they do not, I will send them to you for punishment. Is good deal?”

Yao smiles wider. “As long as they pay for what they need, and keep their hands to themselves, we will be happy. Perhaps this would be a good time to arm my dealers. Small weapons, concealable. Do you offer anything along those lines?” A hefty sale should soothe any ruffled feathers in Ivan's crew. It will also cement the end to their bad blood. He would _very_ much like to seal that deal with a kiss.

This is not at all the way Ivan expected things to go. There are only two dead between them, and that with very little bloodshed. Perhaps that’s for the best. He takes Yao’s hand and pulls him in with it, smashing their mouths together. The pipe is still caught between them, cool metal and a smell of iron that reminds him of blood.

Yao gasps. The kiss is hard, urgent, and makes his eyes blow wide in shock. Yet it only takes that second for him to sink into it, pulling Ivan back to the couch and pressing their bodies together point for point. The pipe is stuck between them, separating the most sensitive places, yet stimulating them as well. He groans, digging his hands into Ivan's hips and letting their bodies fall into sync. It’s surprisingly easy.

Ivan rocks forward against the pipe, groaning into Yao’s mouth. Bozhe moi, if he doesn't stop soon he will probably begin something he could regret. Pulling away is torture, and he can only hope that it frustrates Yao just as much.

Yao groans, letting the man pull away and sitting up to compose himself. He tucks a long black strand of hair behind his ear, glancing toward Ivan to find him just as rumpled. Good. “Leaving already?” he asks, although he already knows the answer. A man like Ivan won't give everything away. Yet. Yao needs to think, anyway; to sort things out, to undo the complications his mind is putting in the way.

If he stays any longer, the temptation of those pretty, full lips will be more than Ivan can handle. He stands and smooths out the front of his coat, a vestment that has managed to remain pristine despite the amount of stains it usually takes. He has a very good dry cleaner. It would not do for his comrades to see him looking slovenly.

“I think that is best. Though if I visit your brother tonight, I do not think it is him I will be seeing,” says Ivan. He presses the pipe against Yao before pulling it back to his side, then takes Yao’s hand and kisses it. “I will not forget our deal. We shall meet again, once business is settled.”

The touch of those lips to his hand makes Yao’s whole body flare, his eyes turning dark in spite of his every instinct to remain composed. He grips Ivan’s hand and uses it to leverage himself to his feet, stepping in close and holding his gaze. “If you visit my brother tonight, I will be very lonely. I hope our next meeting is very, very soon.”

Ivan kisses him chastely: once on the lips and then on each cheek. “I am sure you know where to find me, should you get too cold. Now call for your butler. It will be more fun if we are subtle, da? A surprise.”

Yao slips from his touch and presses the button on his watch that connects him to Sebastian. “Let them in.”

A long moment of silence follows, and he frowns down at the watch. “Sebastian?” Nothing. “Huh.”

Yao opens the door himself, frowning as he finds very few of Ivan's minions and his own remain in the foyer where he'd told his butler to escort them. The rest are across the hall in the dining area, where there is a full bar and a bartender, drinking, smoking, and glaring at each other. Strange noises are coming from the coat closet. He opens the door.

Inside, Sebastian is grinding against the red-headed gunwoman’s ass, one hand down the front of her pants. They had stolen away to the coat closet, where their kisses got out of hand. The lovely lady had turned out to be a bit different than he’d been expecting, anatomically speaking, but Sebastian quickly decided he didn’t care. His lips find a spot on her neck that make her nearly swoon, and he holds tight around her middle as he works his hand over her, whispering against her skin. How could he be blamed for missing his master's call, or the fact that the door is now open?

Ivan stares for a good, long moment, Yao by his side. That explains a thing or two. He turns to Yao, raising an eyebrow. “It's your butler.”

Yao almost laughs, startling the two from their embrace. It seems lust is in the air tonight. “If you don't mind giving your girl the night off, I believe _someone_ in this house should be satisfied with the evening's events.” His eyes spark as he turns to Ivan, offering him the kind of smirk that most men fear. It doesn't surprise him that the man smirks back.

“Have breakfast ready by nine,” Yao adds to Sebastian, not even looking at him as he closes the door. He then turns to one of his other boys, speaking in Chinese. “ _Gather Ivan's men. It is time for them to leave_.”

Ivan smiles and claps his hands together. “We go now. Much to discuss.”

Yao watches Ivan’s companions gather by the door, giving him wary/drunken looks. That makes sense. He needs to remember to tell his bartender that 'vodka' does not mean 'vodka and xanax' anymore. “I am assuming we will be in touch?” he asks, keeping his face carefully blank.

“Da.” That is all that needs to be said. Ivan sweeps the end of his scarf over his shoulder and marches out the door with his comrades, minus Grell, following - some rather dazedly. He doesn't pity them at all. They should know better than to take a drink from the drug lord.

A muffled groan floats out from the closet. “You are one _hell_ of a butler, Bassie!”

Sebastian chuckles. “It's what I live for.”


	22. Pouncing Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feliciano visits Feliks in the hospital, and, with a little help from Toris, the pair try to come up with a solution for the grieving Ludwig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who celebrate either, we wish you a Happy Thanksgiving and a Happy Hanukkah! Thanks so much for the comments, we love hearing from you!

Despite the fact that he’s still stuck in the hospital, Feliks' afternoon has actually been pretty sweet. He has a new roommate, which will be more awesome once the guy (or girl) is actually conscious. Better yet, one of his best friends stopped by to hang out as if everything was normal. Feliciano Vargas is one of the sweetest guys he's ever met, and so steadfastly loyal that he never even asked what was going on - he was just there. They’ve been sharing gossip; it’s a nice distraction from the mundane routine of the hospital, even though poor Feliciano has been having a hard time with his boyfriend.

“I know he's still sad, I really do understand and I don't want to push him. It's just...I miss my Luddy, too. He hasn't been the same since Gil died.” Feliciano sighs, leaning his elbows on the bed. Feliks has offered to make room, but Feliciano wants to save that spot for Toris. He has even taken the liberty of piling a bunch of stuff on the room's other chair so that Toris will have no choice but to join Feliks on the bed.

Feliks’ feelings on Ludwig are mixed, largely because he hates the man's brother. Why Feliciano would ever want to get involved with them is beyond him. He's such a sweetie, and the Beilschmidts are... _were_ mean. That was putting things mildly. Still, Ludwig makes Feli happy, and he is a sucker for romance stories. “Well, I know you're doing everything you can. You always know how to make people smile, Feli.”

“But I've tried that! I made lots of people smile for him, I got him beer, I _cleaned_ , I cooked, and he's _still_ grumpy!” Feliciano complains. “I even put the beer and the cleaning together, and did it naked. He looked really weird for a second, but then he walked away.”

Feliks is about to launch into a detailed history of his and Toris' sex life after Toris' dog died, when there’s a knock at the door and the man himself appears. “Am I interrupting gossip time?” says Toris.

“Toris!” Feliks exclaims, grinning. “What are you doing here so early? It’s during visiting hours and everything!”

Toris shrugs. “Ivan has something to do, and he doesn’t need me tonight.” That’s more than fine with him; he’d much rather be here with his boyfriend.  He's missed Feliks so much lately.

“That’s totally awesome! You’re just in time to help me fix Feli's problem.”

There's a wide open spot on the bed, and Toris can't help himself. He slides in next to Feliks, pulling him into his arms and kissing his pale neck. He's getting too skinny. He'll have to bring him more food. “Do I get to kiss you while I help?”

Feliks taps his chin, pretending to think. After a moment he winks at Feliciano and turns to peck Toris on the lips. “Okay! I don't even taste like vomit today. It's great!”

Toris laughs, wrinkling his nose at the thought of vomit. “Ah, such a luxury.” He follows the peck with one of his own, then cuddles down behind Feliks and wraps his arms around his waist. The position is comfortable, and it allows him to peer over Feliks' shoulder at Feliciano. “So what's up?”

Feli smiles to see them together. Toris and Feliks are the couple everyone wishes they could be. Well, they used to be. These days he wouldn't want to be in their shoes, not with Feliks sick like this and Toris working for Ivan. He knows the hospital bills have to be rough, but _Ivan_? Surely the pair could have come to him and Ludwig if they were so desperate. “Luddy won't go back to normal. Well, he is, sort of, slowly - but he won't touch me! He doesn't want to have sex.”

Toris stiffens a little, pressing his lips together. What if Ludwig doesn't want to have sex for the same reason Feliks has been avoiding it? His eyes flit to his boyfriend. Oh God, he hadn't even thought... No. It's normal for people to grieve. And when you grieve, it's hard to want sex. “It's normal,” he says softly. “Very normal. The whole thing was a tragedy. It's natural to need some time.”

“It's been more than a month. Is that enough time?” asks Feliciano. Lovino doesn’t think so. Actually, Lovino is always looking for an excuse to yell at Ludwig or tell Feliciano to break up with him, so his opinions probably can’t be trusted.

It's surprisingly difficult for Feliks to offer advice on this one. Ever since the horses were taken away and the race track closed down, he's hated Gilbert. He's not sorry the man's dead, and he can't even bring himself to feel guilty about that for Feliciano's sake. Plus, the no-sex thing hits close to home. He and Toris haven't done more than kiss since he went into the hospital. The hospital rules forbid it, of course, but it’s much more than that. He's terrified he’ll get Toris sick. He leans back in his boyfriend’s arms, breathing him in to try and get rid of the hospital smell that surrounds them.

Toris traces his fingers down Feliks’ chest, feeling his heartbeat and trying to comfort himself with it. “It's not a long time when you're grieving. I mean, the circumstances are horrible. Maybe if he had more closure...”

Feliciano’s fists clench and his face turns decidedly more dangerous. “We're working on that. If I could bring him the one who killed his family, _that_ would be a good present.” He glances up at Toris. “How is it working for Ivan the Terrible?”

Toris goes steel-tight. He can't help it. Just the thought of Ivan makes him uncomfortable. _Very_ uncomfortable. He's not sure he can even think of the man while Feliks is in his arms. “Fine. Just... Busy. He's turned me into a secretary, I think.”

Feliks can feel the tension in Toris’ arms. He knows there's something wrong with the whole Ivan job, but he's never been able to get much out of Toris about it. It scares him, because he can't help imagining all sorts of terrible things happening to Toris while he's stuck in bed and unable to protect him. On days like this he feels like he could walk right over to the bar and demand that his boyfriend be treated with respect and kindness, and be allowed to keep his phone so they can text. He pokes at Toris. “Hey. You'd tell me if something was up, wouldn't you?”

“Of course!” He says it with a bit too much enthusiasm. He needs to calm down. Smiling a little, Toris leans in and pecks Feliks’ lips again. “It's just a little stressful. Nothing I can't handle. I promise.” One hand skims over his arm, touching skin where he can. “Anyway, there's nothing to tell. It's mostly been paperwork and filing, and some random stuff like cooking dinner or picking up his mail. That sort of thing.”

Ivan's mail largely consists of death threats, tampered envelopes, and code words – Feliciano knows because he’s sent some of them. Stressful seems like an understatement. Still, who is he to talk? Ivan has sold him some very fine knives. “I'm sure.”

Toris ignores that, moving instead to lean over his boyfriend with a smile. “So how was your day, babe?”

It's not fair, in Feliks’ opinion. Toris probably has all _sorts_ of good gossip now that he can't share. At least Toris has a good job now, one that pays well enough to keep them both in fair shape. A little too pale, but Toris has always needed some serious sun. “Not bad. I mean you're here, and Feli's here, so it's actually really great!”

Toris laughs, laying back down and looking up at Feliciano. “How've things been with you, Feli? Aside from Ludwig being upset. I hear there's a lot happening at the casino this month.”

Feliciano used to like Toris. Still does, really. Now that the man has joined the game on Ivan's team, he has to be careful what he says. It's a shame, because it means he will need to be careful around Feliks too; Feliks tells his boyfriend just about everything.

“Si! Lots of parties, and without Gilbert there's been a lot of extra work.” Despite all appearances, Gilbert did get things done. He barked orders and people did what he said; some out of fear, some out of respect, and some simply because they wanted to see what would happen next. They’re less likely to listen to Feliciano; they tend to look at him oddly, as though they don’t understand what he’s saying until he’s got his knife out.

Toris nods, even though he can see the way Feli’s face closes off. He doesn't push; he knows exactly what's going through his head. So he just smiles, acknowledging it, and pulls Feliks closer. “Is that chef still on staff? The one that makes that awesome fusion platter? Maybe I'll get that for you next time I visit, huh, babe?”

Feliks squeezes his hand. “You're sweet, but it'll never last in here.” Plus, he's not hungry much these days. Food just doesn’t taste the same anymore. The only things that are still really good are the ones Toris bakes himself.

“Ve! I almost forgot!” Feliciano reaches for the bag against his chair and pulls out a massive container of pasta. “I made you some pasta! It's got just a little bit of salt on it for flavor, so when you don't feel good it'll go down real nice.”

Toris leans up a little to peer at the container. “That's so nice, Feli! What kind?”

“Cellentani.” He opens it a little so they can see the little twisted noodles inside. He made them plain, so they'll be easy to get down and, hopefully, keep down. He came once on a day when Feliks was getting his treatment, and it nearly broke his heart to see him so sick. It is easy to forget when it’s sunny out and Feliks feels okay just how much he is up against. But Feliks is strong; stronger than a lot of the thugs the casino hires, even if he doesn't look it. He'll pull through. Then they'll have a big party and he and Feliks will get really drunk and start dancing on Roddy's piano until Ludwig takes them down.

Feliks laughs, even though he knows it won't be as cute or funny in a few days when he's leaning over a bucket, too weak to get to the bathroom. He tried that once, only to find he couldn't really get up again. Tino found him asleep on the bathroom floor. “Oh, Feli, you really are such a good friend!” He leans over and hugs him, careful not to spill the pasta. That's practically a sin in Feliciano's eyes. “I'm lucky to have you. Both of you.” He hugs Toris, and this time gives him a real kiss.

Toris kisses him back easily, melting into it and letting Feliks take the lead. It's been so long since he's been so eager. Grinning against his mouth, Toris trails his fingers down his hips. He pulls back to smirk at Feliks with no little lust, but even more love. “I'm lucky to have you. You're everything to me.”

Feliks’ grin turns sappy. It really is sad; when it comes to romance - actually, to Toris in general - he can't help the way his heart fills up and his stomach turns to butterflies. He does miss the days when this would result in him pouncing on Toris, but... “OH! Feli, I know what you need to do!”

Feliciano sits up straighter, ready to take notes if need be. Some of Feliks' ideas are very complicated and hard to follow. “Si?”

“So, Ludwig's like, this big tough guy, right? Totally used to being in charge of everyone, and way OCD so everything's always the same. We've been thinking the wrong way! If you keep doing the things Ludwig remembers doing with his brother and letting him have his way, he'll never change. So, what you need to do...” He pauses for dramatic effect, then whips out his hand to point at Feliciano, “is POUNCE HIM!”

Feliciano blinks, confused. “...like a kitty?”

“Oh, Dear Sweet God.” Toris presses his fingers to his forehead, both terrified and amused. The idea of Feliciano pouncing on Ludwig, one of the only people on the planet who can match Ivan in scariness, is practically more than his brain can handle. “No. No, Feli. Like... Like 'pounce'. Like...” He can't help it. He starts laughing like a crazy person, pressing his lips against Feliks' neck.

“Tori, stop it, I'm being serious here!” Feliks whines, squirming. “I mean like - hey! - I mean you need to - TORIS!” He can't help giggling now himself. “That's not fair, you know that tickles!”

“I'm sorry!” Toris laughs, pulling back and looking up at Feli, trying to regain control. “Remember your first kiss?” Everybody knows that story. It was in all the papers.

“Of course!” Feliciano’s hands flutter like humming birds; his gestures become more elaborate when he's on a subject he favors. Ludwig is one of those. “Luddy even remembered the date! We celebrated the anniversary. It was a long while ago now, back when Lovi and I first returned to La Citta after…something happened. I thought he was super cute, and when I realized it was Luddy I just had to go say hi! I might've had a _little_ bit to drink, but mostly it was just fun to kiss and I missed him a lot! He was so surprised, and then we... _ohhh_.”

Feliks smirks. “Exactly! You just find him when he's cleaning or whatever he does, and POUNCE! Jump his bones! Strip him down and do it against a wall! That kind of thing. Forget seduction. Sometimes, boys are _so_ oblivious. Eh, Tori?”

Toris blushes so red he looks like he might actually turn into a raspberry. Back in high school, Feliks had taken matters into his own hands once it became clear that Toris was too shy to make a move on such a beautiful creature. “Definitely.” Toris smiles. He pressing his lips to his neck, not laughing anymore but nipping at him; that topic is just plain embarrassing to him.

Feliciano giggles. He's heard that story multiple times as well. Feliks loves telling it so much that it never gets old, just to see his eyes brighten with the memory while Toris turns redder and redder. They usually end up play-wrestling, and then they disappear for a while. It's kind of a shame that won't happen this time. It makes him feel guilty for bringing up the situation with Ludwig. “Well, you must be right! I’ll try it as soon as I get home. I just want to see Luddy happy again.”

Feliks wriggles up against Toris, and Toris almost laughs at the way he's cuddling in. “You will,” says Toris. “These things just take time, and some... unconventional healing.”

“Mm. Healing would be nice. But we're one the right track.” Feliks smiles at them both, still unable to believe how lucky he is to have them. “We'll just put all our strength into it, and everything will be okay.”

“Better than.” Toris grins back, holding his eyes for a long moment before finally looking back over at Feliciano. He looks teary-eyed, and Toris knows what he's thinking because it’s the very thing he’s been avoiding. “Everything will be better than okay.”


	23. Jack of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise at the casino as the Beilschmidt murders remain unsolved and word gets out that their enemies may be forming an alliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Please excuse the Google translated Italian in this chapter, neither of us speak Italian.

The casino is absolutely packed, which means that security has their hands full with drunks, cons, and underage wannabes. The noise of it even filters into the private VIP lounge, annoying Ludwig. Then again, he is annoyed with a lot of things right now. He is annoyed that Lovino tracked dirt and blood onto his nicely shampooed rug. He is annoyed that Sadik continues to eat dinner on the couch, littering it with crumbs. He is _very_ annoyed that Toni refuses to use a coaster. Also, his dogs need to be bathed, and yet Sadik is dangling his sandwich over their heads as though they deserve a reward for digging up his carpet and drooling on the tables.

The truth is the poor dogs are dying for some attention. They're big fellas who could easily swipe the whole of Sadik’s dinner from him, but Ludwig and Gilbert trained them well. The fact that Gil was involved, and that Blackie was _his_ dog, is likely why they haven't had much love lately. They're perfectly well taken care of, they're just lonely. Poor Blackie has been moping about almost as much as Ludwig. Sadik gives the dogs a piece of turkey each for waiting so patiently, offering the largest to the mourning Doberman.

Toni rolls his eyes at the sight, swallowing a mouthful of beer and snapping his fingers at the German Shepard, whistling. “Hey - Hey Boy! C'mere! C'mere, buddy, you wanna have some roast beef?”

Ludwig growls, throwing a coaster at the man like a frisbee. “You will _NOT_ get crumbs and beer on my furniture!” He groans as the dogs jump and snap after the flying coaster, knocking over Toni's beer. “VERDAMMIT!”

“Stop shouting, you fucking clean freak!” Lovino yells, planting his boots on the table. There's a bit of blood on them that he's going to have to wash off so they don't stick wherever he walks. “You can lick my boots if you want, but we have a goddamned _maid_!”

When those boots touch his perfectly clean table, Ludwig almost goes faint with anger. He raises his duster like a sword and bellows, “GET OFF MY TABLE YOU UNGRATEFUL CHILD! I HAVE CLEANED IT EIGHTEEN TIMES TODAY AND I WILL NOT CLEAN IT AGAIN!”

Sadik and Toni share a glance. It might be a good time to leave, and Sadik, at least, would very much like to. But Feliciano sent them here to make sure his brother and his boyfriend didn't kill one another while he spent the day with Feliks. Really though, if either of them draw a weapon there isn't much Sadik is going to be able to do. Plus, there are the dogs. Aster (the German Shepard) and Berlitz (the honey-colored lab) answer to Ludwig. If Luddy tells the dogs to kill them, they'll be fighting off teeth and claws in seconds, treats or not.

Lovino glares. “Yeah? Well I spent all afternoon trying to get information out of some idiot about _your_ brother. That was some sick bastard! I didn't even _want_ to kill him, but he wouldn't shut the fuck up about turtles. TURTLES, of all things! I had my knife in his gut, and he was laughing! Do you know how frustrating that is? I HATE it when they don't cooperate!” He slams his still-bloody knife into the table, already marked with similar gouges.

Toni sits up slowly, getting ready to tackle Lovi to the floor and shield him. That's kind of his job, right? Right. Time for a topic change. “Hey! So. Been hearing some odd news outta the Rainbow scene. You know whores hear everything.” That grabs their attention. Lovi turns to send him the most heinous glare he can muster, and Ludwig simply blinks at the word ‘whore.’

Sadik sits up too. He hasn't been to the Rainbow in a while. Apparently, he isn't welcome. Kiku's pissed at him, and he guesses he can figure out why, but it isn't fair. How's he supposed to explain if the man won't even see him? “What happened?” he asks.

“Seems Dragon Boy and the Russians have come to a truce of sorts,” says Toni.

“ _What_?” Lovino growls. Great. Just fucking perfect. All they need is for their two biggest rivals to make nice with each other. He'd been hoping they'd blow each other to pieces.

“Yeah.” Toni nods, letting the gravity of _that_ little tidbit sink in. Drugs and guns, getting together? That's bad news for everybody else, especially when both sides seemed to be hungry for power. “I've been hearing shit you would not believe. They've been making deals. Dragon's been buying little side-arms for all his dealers; expensive as fuck, and inscribed with the gang logo. Ivan the Terrible's been hangin' around, bringing him golden knives and shit. People have been spreading all kinds of rumors. Somebody told me that the little brat Ivan's got is engaged to that punk nephew of Yao's. But I mean, other people are going around sayin' they're boning _each other_. Which is totally fucking ridiculous, if you ask me.”

“Bullshit.” Lovi snorts. There's no way they’re screwing. They've been rivals for years. That makes the rest of the story less plausible too. Maybe they've been buying from each other, but that's all. “The only one Wang bones is his brother. There's a reason they call him the China Doll. Creepy as shit, if you ask me.”

“DON'T-” Sadik starts to get up, and then realizes he was about to punch his boss. He sits back down and clenches his hands together. “Don't call him that. Kiku's my friend, and he doesn't deserve that name. It's not his fault his brother's a fucking rapist.”

Toni scoffs, shaking his head at poor, lovelorn Sadik. This idiot just won't quit. Kiku only had true eyes for Hera, a story which proves whores can fall in love. It's hope for him and Frannie, at any rate. Even with Hera dead Sadik doesn't stand a chance, no matter how many times he defends the whore. Not when everyone knows he was the last person to see Heracles alive, just as well as they know he and Hera fought like cats and dogs. “Give it up, Sadik. China Doll or not, he wants nothing to do with you.”

“It's not like that! I don't...ah fuck it. Just stop calling him that.” Sadik shoves the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. It’s true enough that his romance is hopeless. It's just not what they think it is. Perhaps that's for the best.

Lovino turns his glare on Sadik. He's still got his suspicions about this one. The man would have to be a complete fool to come back to them after shooting Gil and Hans - and Heracles, but he was hardly important. Then again, if Sadik was smart he would _know_ that he would look guilty for running. That's why they've kept him close, with constant eyes on him.

Ludwig begins dusting again with renewed fervor, annoyed with the turn this conversation has taken. He doesn't want to think about Guns and Drugs fucking. He doesn't want to think about Dragon Boy and his pretty brother fucking. He doesn't want to think about _anyone_ fucking.

He picks up the statue of the leaning tower of Pisa on his book shelf and begins to dust it off. “No one should be calling anyone names.” He sets the statue back down and turns to the boys, trying not to glare at Sadik. He has his suspicions, but the man always got on well with Gil. Even Hans seemed to treat him like he was a younger version of himself. “We should be figuring out what the hell happened that night. And who to string up for it.”

Toni shifts. The whole room has suddenly gone very, very quiet. “I mean, we can't burn the whole city down looking for the guy who did this, right?”

“I don't care. Someone is paying.” Ludwig grips his duster tight, glaring at the rows and rows of books that mean nothing now. Poetry. Philosophy. History. Gilbert was always ashamed of being so smart. He hated the thought of anyone catching him reading. Always called this shelf Ludwig's, though its contents were all his. “Someone is paying dearly.”

“So get the fuck out of the house and _find them_ ,” Lovi growls. “Feli and I are tired of doing all the work.” In truth Feliciano spends far more time worrying about Ludwig than complaining, but no one else needs to know that.

Ludwig ignores the little brat, intent on dusting the shelf for the hundredth time, taking each book out and slowly going over their covers with a cloth rag. “Where _is_ Feli?” He asks idly, wondering where his... well, can they be called lovers anymore? Where his partner has slipped off to. “I thought he was visiting Feliks.” The visiting hours at the hospital were over two hours ago. The thought clenches in his gut. Perhaps Feliciano has found someone else to satisfy him while his lover is stuck in grief? Squaring his jaw, Ludwig pulls out a book, trying to blank his mind.

Lovi shrugs. “How the hell should I know? I'm not my brother's keeper.” Even though he is getting worried. Even though they are rarely apart. Even though he _told_ Feliciano to take Sadik or Antonio with him. The idiot. Did Feli really think no one would attempt to take him out just because it was a hospital?

Sadik raises an eyebrow as Ludwig starts cleaning again. The room is already pristine, except for the areas they've been getting crumbs on. Not long ago he would have found himself at the business end of Luddy's sidearm for that, or with a black eye if he'd done something particularly heinous like spill milk. He's not worried anymore, but maybe he should be. “You know, boss, you're getting as bad as the Doc over at the clinic.”

Ludwig rounds on Sadik. “IT IS NOT BAD TO WANT THINGS CLEAN! THINGS SHOULD BE _CLEAN_ AND _NICE_ AND THAT IS HOW THEY SHOULD BE! WHEN THEY GET DIRTY THEY ARE NOT AS NICE! YOU WANT NICE THINGS, JA?! IF YOU DO NOT, FREELOAD SOMEWHERE ELSE YOU USELESS OAF!”

Lovi turns to Toni while Sadik cowers back into the couch. “You know, I think a sound thunk to the back of the head would do him some good one of these days. Shame Feli said I couldn't.”

Toni scoffs. “Don't look at me, sweetheart. That man would floor me with his pinkie. You're lucky Feli can control all that muscle.” Rolling his eyes, he picks up his beer and swallows the last of it.

At that moment, Feliciano himself bounds into the room with a wide smile and a bag in hand. “Bonjourno! Ve, what's all the shouting for?”

“FELICIANO!” Lovino is at his brother's side in an instant, waving scolding fingers in his face. “You're two hours late! You didn't think to call? Where the fuck were you? I TOLD you to take someone with you! What if something had happened, then where would we be? You goddamned idiot! Stupido! Non si può mai riflettere sulle cose, basta andare atto e poi lasciare tutti gli altri per ripulire!” [1]

“Questo non è giusto! Mi è permesso di uscire per conto mio, posso prendermi cura di me! Tu sei quello che ha sempre a botte, è per questo che avete Toni.” Feli puts down the bag to defend himself, his hands doing just as much talking as his mouth. [2]

Toni wishes he had a video camera. He's got the Italian Show going on to his right and the Luddy Show going on to his left. Scratching Blackie's ears, he turns to watch the Italians bicker, mentally trying to figure out how he can use Lovi's anger to his advantage later. “Oi. Can everyone breathe for a second?”

Ludwig continues shouting, oblivious to the fact that Feliciano has returned. “... AND YOU NEVER PICK UP AFTER YOURSELF! THERE ARE ALWAYS CRUMBS, ALWAYS TINY LITTLE CRUMBS I MUST GET UP WITH TAPE AND- AND HAIR FROM THE WIGS OF YOUR WHORES! WHO WEARS BLUE HAIR ANYMORE, SAVE FOR YOUR SKANKS? I AM FORCED TO CLEAN UP BLUE HAIR, AND CRUMBS AND BEER AND ASH AND I WILL NOT DO IT ANYMORE, JA?! _JA_?!”

Sadik just nods and tries his best to disappear into the couch. That's really the best thing to do with Ludwig yelling in his face, the Vargas brothers arguing in Italian, the dogs all barking, and Toni looking like all he needs is a box of popcorn and a soda.

“SHUT. UP. EVERYONE!” Ludwig finally yells, because no one listens to him unless he yells. “I AM TIRED OF BEING IGNORED BY THE PEOPLE WHO ARE SUPPOSED TO WORK FOR ME!”

Now, at last, there is silence. Even the dogs hunker down with their tails between their legs. For a moment, they all stare at one another.

Feliciano breaks it with a bright laugh. “Luddy! It's been so long since you got angry like that. I missed it.” He walks closer, a little nervous. He'd almost forgotten why he came here, why he took his time coming home. It’s clear Ludwig isn't having a good day. Perhaps now is not the time to act on Felik's advice.

Lovino rolls his eyes. They could find out Ludwig was the one to kill his own brother, and Feli would probably still look at the man like he shat rainbows. In his opinion, that is still a possibility. The fratricide, not the rainbows.

Ludwig’s stomach flips. Feli is smiling. Laughing. At least that's one good thing. He glares at the others, pointing at Sadik and Toni. “You! Clean up after yourself! You too, you lazy cradle-robber!” He skips giving orders to Lovi because the man is practically waiting for the chance to off him, and just that might give him cause. “And you!” He frowns at Feliciano, more hurt than angry. “Why did you not call me? You were two hours late coming home! Did... Are you...?” He doesn't even want to ask, especially not in front of everyone else. He turns back to the bookcase. “Never mind.”

“Luddy, I...” Feliciano bites his lip. He can practically see Feliks in the back of his mind, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the hesitation. _"Seriously, Feli, it's not that hard. Pounce him! Jump his bones! Strip him down and do it against a wall!_ ”

“I...”

_POUNCE HIM!_

Feliciano pounces. With one shove he's got Ludwig's back up against the wall. He grabs hold of Luddy's collar and brings him down for a harsh kiss, forcing his way into his mouth and nipping at his lips.

That has Toni sitting up. _Hello_ , lover boy. “Dios Mio.” He shakes his head, wide-eyed. Either Feli has a death-wish, or a better hold on Ludwig than anyone ever thought.

Ludwig’s eyes pop open wide, and it takes him a good fifteen seconds to remember how to kiss. Then he's _kissing_ Feli, dropping the book and duster to grab his ass. He pulls his lover’s body against his own and throws him against the book shelf, devouring that pretty mouth. It's been so long since they've kissed like this, like they needed it to live, to heal. To get by. Why did he ever let that go away? They should always kiss like this.

Feli groans into his mouth. He's going to give Feliks something special for this. Maybe he'll kidnap Toris from Ivan for a day, stick him in a hot pink dress, and leave him at the hospital. But there's time to think of presents later. Right now, he has to keep up with this pouncing thing. He tangles their legs and pushes his hands under Ludwig's shirt, kissing him until they're nearly blue. “Ludwig. You're alive. So am I. I'm going to remind you what that means.” He tugs the shirt over Ludwig's head, giving him no choice but to cooperate. Then he starts on Luddy's belt, rubbing the fast-growing bulge there as he works.

The shirt is a dirty trick, but those hands make up for it, so Ludwig just moans, rocking into Feliciano’s touch as though he's barely contained within his slacks. “How are you going to do that, Spatzi?” he asks, leaning in to take his mouth again, thrusting his leg between Feli’s and rocking it upward.

“By any means necessary.” Feliciano grins. He pulls away from their kiss to latch onto his neck, and bites down hard.

“Umt-!” The sound Ludwig makes, barely choked through his lips, is probably the most wanton sound he's made in months. With a heated growl, he lifts Feli into his arms and throws him over his shoulder, cave-man style. “We are going to see what means you have, then.” He spanks him hard, right over his rump, and then takes off for their loft, overjoyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - Stupid fool! You never think things through, you just go act and then leave everyone else to clean up!
> 
> 2 - That's not fair! I'm allowed to go out on my own, I can take care of myself! You're the one who always gets into fights, that's why you have Toni.


	24. White Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holly wakes up in his new friend's apartment, and Matthew's search for answers gets a little sidetracked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and reviewing! We love you all :D

The sun is so bright that it stings. For a moment Holly simply blinks at the window, wondering why he left it open when he was clearly on a bender the night before, judging by the headache. Then he remembers: a hell of a beating and a bunch of confusing questions, a car and a sweet face, Berwald at the clinic…  This isn’t his loft.

He moves to sit up, only to finds his head is being uncooperative. He lies back down and stares at the cracks in the ceiling. This is clearly not his place, nor any place he knows. That usually means he’s in trouble.

When Holly is finally able to sit up, he finds the room he's in is bare. There's not a lot around except for a mountain of pillows, what might be a sports poster, and a few pictures on the chest of drawers. He can't see them from this far away, not with his head pounding like this. Slowly he rolls from the bed, and that's when he realizes he's in fucking _pain._ He groans, staggering back against the mattress and leaning on it to regain his bearings.

Matthew hears a thud from the bedroom and is instantly on his feet. He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to look less frazzled. This was a _stupid_ idea. Vosh will rip him a new one if he ever finds out about it. What in the name of God possessed him to take a drug dealer back to his apartment? _HIS_ apartment, not even the fake one in that crappy, abandoned complex! He figured that would have seemed more suspicious. Now, however, Holly will know where he lives.

The thing is, he doesn’t really regret it. It’s usually Alfred's job to do stupid things and never think twice. This time he's the one with a stranger in his bed. _...that sounds wrong._ Mattie rubs his face, skewing his glasses. Does he offer Holly breakfast now? Tell him the truth? Keep lying? DEFINITELY keep lying. As long as he can.

At this point, his time for contemplating his choices is up. He’s just going to have to deal with them. He goes to the bedroom where Holly is leaning against the bed, bandages wrapped around his chest and bruises spreading out beneath them like spilled paint.  “H-hey,” he begins. “You, um, the doctor said you should stay in bed.”

The voice is familiar. Holly knows it; knows it from days of obsessing about it. He looks up slowly and finds himself staring at Matthew Kirk, the little party-boy speed sampler who’s been on his mind since the day they met. “Oh. Hey.” Holly finds himself smiling, gripping the edge of the mattress. “I... I didn't know where I was.”

Holly doesn't seem angry. That's good, at least. Matthew moves closer and helps the man sit back on the bed. Poor guy; everything must be spinning, and he's not even high. “It's my place,” Mattie says quietly, still wondering why he’s doing all of this. “I thought they might come after you, even at the clinic.”

“Oh,” says Holly, looking up into the calm blue that is settled deep in those eyes. He's always been a sucker for the cute ones. “No, I don’t think they would. They got what they needed.” His jaw sets and he looks down, his gaze stuck on the boy's lips. He just barely got to kiss him last time. He's never wanted to kiss anyone so badly. “How long was I out?”

“About a day. A little more, since it's morning now. Oh, uh, do you want to eat something?” Mattie steps back, trying to keep himself from any fresh stupidity.

Holly’s head swims. He slowly shakes his head, raising a hand to his brow. “I don't think that's such a good idea. When my headache goes away, maybe.” He looks up, smiling at the boy. “Wanna keep me company?”

“Ah...” Well, he already did call out of work. Mattie has saved enough vacation days that Vosh didn't ask any questions, even if he growled a little more than usual. He might as well dig his grave a little deeper. “Okay. Do you want aspirin, or anything?”

Holly shakes his head. As if a pothead is going to ask for aspirin when he has a headache. He ignores the twinge in his head as he moves over to allow the pretty boy room.

Mattie really, really should have invested in another chair for this room. The bed seemed so big before, when the only one who visited was Alfred. He sits as far from Holly as he can and stays quiet. Noise can't be good for his head.

Holly offers him a wry smile. “You really are a bunny rabbit.” He's never met a party boy who was so scared to cuddle up to him. With a sigh, he reaches out and takes Mattie’s wrist, yanking him onto the bed and letting go so he won't be too afraid. “Am I that scary?”

Mattie just manages to catch his balance. It's hard to remember the fake Matthew, the one that's confident, when he’s in his own bedroom. “I _am_ the one that saved _you_.”

Holly smiles, watching Mattie seal himself away behind his attitude. There’s something about him. He doesn't know what it is, but it turns him on to know that he can see the secrets in his eyes as they come and go. “I guess so. Bunny rabbit.”

“What does that make you, then?” Matthew keeps his distance. No need to let whatever he's feeling for this man get any worse. It's a dangerous kind of attraction, one he will not let get the best of him. He's never believed in love at first sight. Lust though... He's got the proof in front of him.

Holly almost laughs. Look at him, so cautious, like he thinks he might get hurt. He reaches over and takes Matthew’s hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “A wounded and grateful fox.” He lets go fast, afraid that he may scare him off. He can't help himself; if he had found Mattie under different circumstances, he probably would've made sure they had a night to remember and taken off the next day. This, however, is different. This he doesn't think he can run away from.

Mattie can’t hide his blush. It’s time to steer the conversation elsewhere. He's supposed to be _using_ Holly, and this is the perfect opportunity to get information from him. “Who was your dog, then?” He gestures to the bandages.

The question chases away Holly’s smile. Sighing softly, he looks away. “No one you want to know.”

“That's true. But it _is_ someone I'd like to avoid. Rabbits are very good runners. _If they catch you they will kill you. But first they must catch you._ ” He smiles a little, wondering if Holly gets the reference. Wondering if Holly ever had the chance to just sit down and read, to study something that wasn't the newest batch of drugs.

Holly reaches out and tugs Mattie’s hair, pushing it from his face. “ _Be cunning, and full of tricks_.” He hasn't read that book in a very, very long time. Maybe he should try it again. He's never been able to finish anything. Always gets to the last chapter and stops. “Is that you? Full of tricks?”

Matthew grins, delighted. Once upon a time he discussed books like _Watership Down_ with Arthur, who was such a fan of all things British. Then came the day when Artie declared he hated rabbits, and never wished to discuss the foul rodents again. That Holly can _quote_ the book eternally endears the man to him. “I would say you are the Prince with a Thousand Enemies.”

Holly laughs, even through the twinge of pain he feels. “I don't know. Maybe.” He presses his cheek into the pillow Mattie's laying on. “Are you sure that's not you?”

“These days? No. But no one has given me such a beating – at least, not yet.” Matthew can't help gently sliding his hand over the darkest bruise on Holly's forehead, still a little swollen and stitched through the middle. It's likely the source of his discomfort, so he moves his hand to his hair. It's surprisingly soft, despite the amount of product it must take to keep it standing up like that.

Wincing just a little at the touch, Holly closes his eyes and lets the pain fade, those fingers dragging from his bruise to his hair and comforting him. He lets his own fingers wander, sliding from Matthew's hair to his cheek, trailing over it down to his chin. “You're cunning and full of tricks. I'm old.” He smiles a little, opening his eyes again. “And I don't play games too often.”

Mattie raises an eyebrow at that. Holly's business is all about games. It's how they stay a step ahead - he should know. He's been trying to keep up since he got his badge. “Somehow I don't believe you.”

Holly slides closer, aware that there's very little room for his pretty boy to slip away. It doesn’t look like Mattie wants to, either; not with the way he's looking at him, with that spark in his eyes. “Somehow, it's true,” he retorts, leaning in and brushing their lips together. It's different without the taste of smoke and the goal of the high getting in the way. It's different, and he likes it. It makes his nerves crackle. When he backs away, he presses his hand to his shoulder. “I don't play games. When you play to win, you can't get out.”

Mattie should stop this, go make some food, call Alfred, _anything_ , but he doesn't. His heart is pounding in his chest just from being so near to him, and he kind of likes it. This is the stupidest thing he's ever done, and he's probably going to be a lot stupider before the day is done. “In a town like this, you can't not play. The other night you almost lost.”

Holly lets his fingers slide all the way down to Mattie’s hip. “And look where I am.” It's the easiest thing in the world to kiss him again, harder now, taking his mouth apart and letting the sparks between them fly. His lips taste sweet, but his tongue moves sweeter, rocking and twisting against his to the point where it's impossible to stay this far away. Carefully, he pulls him closer, holding onto the kiss like it's the last he'll ever have.

That they're kissing is about all Mattie can register with the tongue in his mouth. He doesn't get kissed very often; he's had maybe two relationships over his lifetime, and none of them recent. It's only now, with Holly so warm and there, that he realizes how lonely he was, how much he missed being with someone like this. Sure, Alf's always been there, they're best friends. Maybe when they're drunk they start flirting, but that's it. That's all he's had for years. Now here's Holly, who sends such sparks through his blood that one kiss is all it takes to send him flying. He doesn't care if it's stupid anymore.


	25. Dangerous Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan returns to Yao's house to solidify their relationship and retrieve Raivis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair **warning** : There is a bit of drug use and hanky-panky in this chapter. Nothing too explicit.

Yao is smoking in the parlor, lying on his couch and displaying his tattoo to the world: the gigantic red dragon that spans his entire back. His phone is on the end table that holds his ashtray, and he's been staring at it for at least two hours, doing little else.

It's been eight days now. His cell phone blinks back at him pitifully, whining about its dying battery. Fine. He'll have someone bring the charger down here. He cannot let his phone die. Perhaps Ivan will call. Even though he has not called since the day they met. He sulks, blowing out sick-smelling smoke and setting his joint in the ashtray, then reaching for his wine. “Sebastian! I want my charger!”

At that moment Ivan himself appears in the doorway, taking the moment to admire one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen. There's a dragon crawling over Yao's back, its tail dipping into his pants. He _desperately_ wants to know where that leads. The dark hair is pulled over his shoulder, and all the fine lines of his muscles are highlighted. The room smells heavily, and that just makes him grin wider. It will be fun to see what Yao is like when he's riding higher. “Evening, comrade.”

Yao nearly spills his drink. Slowly, he turns his head, setting the drink on the table and trying to keep the butterflies in his stomach from coming up. Ivan is just as handsome as he was last time they met. “I... Evening.” He frowns. “You did not kill Sebastian, did you?”

Ivan raises an eyebrow. “Nyet. I cannot say the same of my comrade; she is most enthusiastic.” He left Grell in the hallway with the butler. Last he saw, she had thrown him to the wall and possibly lost her underwear. Ah, young love – well, at least young on Grell’s part. He strides further into the room, pulling off his gloves a finger at a time. “I have come to find my son. You are not keeping up your end of the bargain. A gentleman would have had him home on time.”

Yao’s head swims, and he cocks it to the side as he watches Ivan move. It's one of the sexiest strip-teases he has ever seen. On the other hand, he _is_ currently seeing in technicolor. “I have spoken with him. Very harshly. I was waiting up to speak to both of them. Take off your coat. I… God damnit!” Yao curses as his phone buzzes and dies. He picks it up, glaring at it.

Ivan laughs. “Is for the best. Now I have your full attention.” His eyes fall to the ashtray. “What's left of it, anyway.” Quicker than a viper, he slides up behind Yao and presses a knife against his throat. “I have a gift for you,” he whispers against his ear.

That steel is pressed to his throat like an assassin, and to Yao that makes Ivan more tempting than the devil himself. He is not defenseless, however, not even to a voice that smooth. His hand comes up, sporting a ten thousand dollar diamond double-finger ring in the shape of a dragon. It is not a fashion statement; its bottom is sharp as a razor and its head has teeth that can rip holes. He's killed with less. That hand flies to Ivan's ear, gripping it, setting the ring behind the shell in warning. “What kind of gift?”

This is a fun game. Ivan bites down on Yao's ear, exactly where the ring is pressed against his. The knife slides from Yao’s throat to his chest, gliding smooth and cold over a nipple but never nicking the skin. “The kind that shines brighter than jewels. The kind that opens people’s chests to spill their rubies across the floor.”

Yao closes his eyes, humming as that blade slides low over his skin, making his body squirm against Ivan's. Biting his lower lip, he shifts, dragging his ass up against the man's groin, his open pants sliding halfway down his hips. He had a little "help" come over today to try and get his mind off this very man. It only left him unwilling to move from this spot until he saw him again. “That sounds like something I would enjoy.”

“I thought so,” says Ivan. It is so easy, and yet so dangerous with that ring sliding over his own neck, resting against an artery. He presses the knife down his stomach, just past the open pants - and pulls away completely, turning Yao to face him so that he can offer the hilt. “Is a very fine one. I trust you will make good use of it.”

Yao is almost disappointed to feel the knife pulled away from his skin. But when he actually sees it, he can't help the sound that chokes in his throat. The hilt is shaped like a dragon, so the blade looks like fire coming from its mouth. “It's stunning,” he whispers, taking it from his fingers and running his ringed hand down Ivan’s cheek. “I will treasure it.”

Ivan smiles; a real smile this time, truly pleased that Yao likes it. This is how courting works, right? When you give them pretty things and they accept them, they will be one with you. Together, he is quite sure they could bring the city to its knees. “If you want my coat off, you will have to give me some of whatever you've been having.” Yao looks blissed. He wonders what it feels like.

Yao laughs a little, trailing his razor ring from Ivan’s cheek down to his neck. “I'll give you whatever you want – within reason. I've been missing your presence.”

“I have been told I am memorable, although most do not miss me when I leave them.” Ivan grabs the hand with the ring, examining it. “How do you not cut your fingers on this pretty thing?”

“Practice,” says Yao. It is a useful ring, good for self-defense and other things one needs a handy blade for. “It is not so lovely as yours. I will have to practice with it.” He finds himself smirking wide, dragging the blade down Ivan’s coat, not cutting it but threatening to. “Take off your coat.”

Ivan _would_ be very upset if that knife were to tear his coat. He cares about it far more than his skin. He moves out of the range of both blades and starts opening the buttons. He has to stand in order to reach the ones at the bottom, and then finally removes the coat. Yao looks a little disappointed to find he's still wearing a long-sleeved shirt and pants underneath it. Ivan chuckles. “I am always cold.”

Reaching up, Yao takes a hold of Ivan’s scarf and draws him back down. “I am always hot.” He kisses his nose, or tries to; his vision is fuzzy so he winds up kissing his upper lip. “Come back and feel.”

Ivan rubs their noses together, well aware that Yao is still holding the knife. “You have not given me anything yet.”

Yao smiles and reaches back to drop his new prize by the ashtray. He picks up his joint again; it’s made of his own blend of fun. He slips it between Ivan's lips and leans up to nip at his throat. “Happy?”

Ivan inhales, trying not to choke or hack. He hasn’t done this often; not only did it mean letting his guard down, but it also required dealing with Yao. “We shall see.” He runs his hand down Yao's side, resting it on his hip.

Yao grins, relaxing back into the couch, taking his hands off Ivan so that he can luxuriate beneath him. Their bodies are only meet where Ivan wants them to. He's going to let him do the touching now. He's been far too forward already, but he can't help it. This smoke has him hornier than a cat in heat. “Satisfaction guaranteed. One hundred percent.” He laughs, spreading his thighs to brush them against the legs flanking his.

Ivan hums, taking another drag before leaning down to blow it in Yao's face. “I like you this way. You are very direct.” He keeps the touching to a minimum, using one finger to trace the whole of Yao's chest. He likes to keep his victims guessing, to be gentle and harsh at random intervals. It makes them more frightened.

Yao grins, raising his arms above his head like a captive and allowing Ivan to trace every muscle, squirming a little as he flicks his nipple, and again when he drags a finger over his ribcage. He almost giggles when the man finds a ticklish place, biting into his lower lip and peering up through his lashes in a play at helplessness. “I must not lie to my new friends.”

Raivis stomps down the steps, ready to walk home himself.  He and Kaoru are fighting again. Of course. Because after sex, there is always fighting. He nearly stumbles over a pile of clothes on the stairs - and that's when he makes the mistake of looking into the parlor. What. The. Fuck. His eyes widen to the size of tennis balls. “Oh My God - _IVAN_?!”

Ivan glances up and waves. He's giggling. It must be the drugs; he really should work up a tolerance. Or see how well Yao holds his vodka in revenge. “Hello Raivis. I was just coming to get you.”

“Wha-? Oh!” Yao laughs out loud, wriggling to turn over so that he can see the stairs. “Yes! We were waiting for you to come down, little boy. Now where is my nephew? Ah!” He claps his hands together as Kaoru comes down behind the little brat and stands by his side, frozen.

“Raivis wait, I just…holy _shit._ ”

“There you are!” Yao points at them, trying to look stern. “We are _very_ disappointed in you.”

Their horrified faces are too funny. Ivan leans over Yao, pressing their bodies together and finding it difficult not to rub against his hip. But he tries to be good for his sons, and there are some things one simply does not show one's children. “Very, very unhappy. I say do not go out with that boy anymore, I say come home by ten - I even be generous and do not check until ten thirty! But here you are. Is a problem.”

Holy Fuck _. UN_ holy Fuck. Raivis grips the railing as the whole world spins. “Oh My God. Are you... Are you two _FUCKING_?” He shrieks the last word, nearly waking the entire district. “No! NO! You CANNOT be fucking! NO!” He covers his eyes, blindly running for the door. “OH MY GOD!”

Ivan tilts his head to the side, looking at Kaoru. “If he thinks this is fucking, you are doing it wrong. Ah! I shall have to find a way to teach my sons _something_ about this.” He shakes his head, exasperated but teasing.

“There is always the Rainbow.” Yao laughs, reaching up and stealing his joint from Ivan’s fingers. It's too easy to lean up and kiss him, long and languid and so good that his toes curl.

Kaoru’s jaw is on the floor. Oh, dear SWEET God no. NO. “I... Am going to my room. And never coming out.” He stomps back up the stairs, slamming the door and locking all four locks.

Ivan sighs as the kiss ends. “I am not understanding why they are allowed to go at it like horny rabbits, and we are not allowed to kiss. Very unfair.”

Yao snuggles into his neck, kissing his way up to his ear and dipping his tongue inside it. “Children do not like to see their guardians fight or fuck. Is very uncomfortable.”

Ivan squirms. “You are lovely. I would like to stay, but I am thinking I must go and make sure Raivis has not met with any trouble. I _did_ tell the driver to catch him, but Raivis is very fast.”

Yao groans softly, biting into that earlobe and silently begging him to stay. The way this smoke has him feeling, this could be a very good night for them. Unfortunately, he also knows that family comes first to Ivan, so he sighs, dropping back to the couch. “When will I see you again?”

Ivan takes one last drag before dropping the joint back into the ash tray, then exhales into Yao's mouth. “Whenever you like. Come visit me.” He stands, pulling his jacket back on and buttoning up.

Yao smirks, reaching up to do the buttons for him. “I'll just have to make room in my schedule.” He slides off the couch and turns his back on the man, pulling his hair loose to let it hang past his shoulders as his pants roll further down his hips. “Should I bring you something pretty?”

Ivan is fairly certain he's allowed to stare now. So he does, snapping his gloves on. The tail of the dragon appears to skim over Yao’s hip and part of his ass. He assumes it wraps around his thigh, but can't see any further. Someday, he intends to. “You are pretty enough.”

Brushing his hair over his shoulder, Yao offers the man a patented Wang smirk. “Shall I wrap myself in ribbon then?”

Ivan grins and tugs at his hair. “It would suit you. Red, I think.” He lets the strands slide out of his fingers. “Ah, you will not mind if I leave my comrade, do you? It may be difficult to extricate her from your butler.”

Yao blinks. “Hmm? Oh!” He laughs, turning to face Ivan and leaning in to brush their lips together. “I was going to go up and see if I could join them. I find myself... in need.”

Ivan frowns, almost deciding to stay. However, he must see to Raivis; make sure the boy is not getting into trouble just for the sake of it. Then there is work to be done at the bar, and after that is finished he will need to sleep. At least his dreams will be pleasant. “Enjoy your night then. Visit soon.”

“Maybe,” Yao sing-songs, waving a hand over his shoulder as though he doesn't care at all. The truth is that he, too, intends to sleep alone tonight. Now that he has found someone so fascinating, no one else will ever do.


	26. Foo Foo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is forced to face his demons in the form of a flying mint bunny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Once again, fair **warning** that there is drug use in this chapter.

The safe-house is proving to be the best idea Vosh ever had - at least in Arthur’s opinion. The shack has become his hideaway, the blow-up mattress on the third floor his master suite. He’s spruced it up a bit, and now the place is worth getting strung out in. He won’t be bringing any whores out here, but that's what the Rainbow is for.

Tonight has been a bad one. He needed to let loose, to stop thinking about the things that make him sad and angry every day. So here he is, getting high as a kite all alone because the hardest shit is too expensive to afford for two.

A flying, mint-colored bunny appears above Arthur, smiling at him as it flaps its little green wings. Oh, not _this_ dreadful shit again. He's taken to calling it Foo Foo, after that song. The bunny sings it, sometimes, because it seems to think it's funny to bop him on the head. “Hiya Artie,” it says.

Groaning softly, he rolls over and stares at his tray of lines, wondering if he should have any more. Clearly, if he's seeing Foo Foo, he should be done. “Christ, don't you have anybody else to bother?”

Foo Foo smiles and does a little loop around his head. “Nope! I'm here all for you, Artie.” He lands by the tray, sniffing at the lines and grimacing. “Those are really bad for you, you know. They make my nose itch.”

“Oi! S'not for imaginary things!” Artie swings his arm, trying to get the thing to go away. “Just leave me alone! I don't need some fucking figment telling me drugs are bad. I'm a copper for Christ's sake!”

The bunny takes to the air again, diving just out of the man's reach. “You're a bad cop. Artie is a bad cop, a dirty cop, cop-out, bad cop bad cop!” it sings, flying fast around Arthur's head and leaving him dizzy.

“Go away, go away!” He waves his arms again, trying to get the little beast to leave him alone. Fucking hallucination! Why did he have to be plagued with such an annoying little shit? He nearly falls off the mattress and sends the tray flying. “Look what you made me do!”

Foo Foo cocks its head, looking at the powder spilled across the floor. They both know Artie will not toss the stuff; he doesn't waste his drugs. “I can't make you do anything. I'm only in your head. I could sing a different song, would that make you feel better? Artie is a murderer, a murderer, MUR-DER-ER!”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Arthur shrieks, throwing himself onto the mattress and stuffing his face into the pillow, hands over his ears, trying to block out everything, everything, _everything_. He can't listen to this any longer. “GO AWAY!”

The bunny lands next to his head, snuggling under the pillow so it can press its little body up against his face. Arthur only feels a cold gust of wind, but he can hear him perfectly. “I can't go away. I'm in your head; you're the one who made me. You _need_ me. I'm the only one who knows the truth, and it's just _killing_ you, isn't it?”

For a moment the creature is quiet, and the room is filled instead with Arthur's sobs. Foo Foo nuzzles closer. “Hey Artie. Why'd you do it?”

He doesn't answer, because he doesn't know anymore. It's haunted him ever since, and now... now he can't even remember himself that night. It feels like he’s watching a movie whenever he thinks about it. Shame and terror and anger all swirl wildly through his nerves, leaving nothing clear but his own despair. “I don't want to see you anymore!”

“That's a silly thing to say.” Foo Foo squirms out from under the pillow and starts bouncing on top of it. “I'm here for you, you know. You don't have anyone else! Oh, what would your mother say if she saw you now? If she knew? I bet she does know, mothers and fathers always do.”

Arthur covers his ears and tries to remember that this is just an illusion, just a weird little trick of his drug-addled mind. But Foo Foo is the scariest presence in his life these days - and not because he has any fear of rabbits. This damn bunny is the one thing that really hurts him anymore, the one stupid thing that burrows into his heart and bites down. He wishes he could just pass out like normal people do when they get too high. Apparently, he's not that lucky.


	27. In Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan confronts the cop at his bar, and Alfred gains the one ally he never expected.

Ivan sighs, staring at the paperwork on the desk in front of him. It's boring; none of it is even illegal. It's not enough to take his mind off of his Dragon, or the fact that Raivis is not speaking to him. Oh well; Raivis is a teenager. He'll get over it. He always does.

Then there is Toris, who has proved most entertaining. He does what he's told and keeps his mouth shut, but the _faces_ he makes! It's clear he doesn't quite know what to make of the situation. He does do an excellent job of keeping Ivan informed about things at the bar - like the cop that seems to be making friends with his men. Perhaps it’s time Ivan introduced himself. It wouldn't hurt to have a cop for a friend; at least it would be interesting. He files away the papers and heads for the bar.

“Dude, you didn't tell me you knew John! I totally had drinks with him, like, last week!” Alfred laughs, toasting his newest friends, and his slightly older ones. He's been working this scene for a few weeks now, making pals in the crowd and trying to dig his way into their dirt without looking like a mole. If he's good at anything, it's making friends. “He's totally awesome. Did he tell you about that thing he pulled at the Rainbow? _Classic_!”

Ivan’s vodka is on the bar before he gets there. Toris has been well trained. His pet goes back to fixing orders for all the other boisterous patrons, and Ivan glares until a seat opens up right next to his quarry. For the moment he just sits and drinks, listening, waiting to see if the cop knows who he is.

Even Alfred recognizes that something just changed. Everybody stopped talking and started drinking the moment the new guy sat down beside him. He turns to look and _HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT_. That explains it. There's the Ivan the Terrible, sitting pretty, drinking his vodka and looking at him through the mirror above the bar. Time to play it cool. “So, did y'all see that dealer who usually hangs out at the cafe down the street hasn't shown up for a few days?” He guesses that's a safe topic, but he's wrong. Everybody drinks. “Um, so! Did you guys hear they found a body in a dumpster not too far from here? Some truck driver.” Everyone drinks. “Oookay… So, how 'bout those Trojans, right?”

This is fun. Ivan likes this one already. “You are speaking of the Greek legend, da? The Trojans allowed a gift, a giant statue, inside their city, only to be destroyed that night when their enemies came out of it. Is a good story. Some logic to it; one never knows who they are inviting to their home.” He looks directly at the cop now, smiling.

Alfred freezes, then turns around to smile, trying to play it off. “Um. Sorry dude. Never really liked bedtime stories.” Shit, shit, shit. He knows. Ivan _KNOWS_. “So, um... I'm gonna call it an early night, boys. Yeah, I'm supposed to meet John at the, um, you know. That thing John's having. Like, everybody's going, so.” He swallows the last of his vodka and tries to stand.

“Oh, stay, comrade!” Ivan pulls him back into his seat with an unnecessary amount of force. “Is early still. Let me buy you a drink; I hear you tell good stories of your own.” He signals Toris with a wave of his hand.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity FUCK. “Um. Hey, dude, I'm just hanging out. One of the guys, you know. Everybody's nice here. It's like Cheers, only with more guns.” The guys chuckle a little. Ivan doesn't. “So, it's been fun and all, but...”

Ivan claps Alfred on the back. “You would turn down a free drink? That is very odd. You do not like vodka?”

“I LOVE VODKA!” he gushes immediately, grabbing the drink and knocking it back. First rule: when you don't know what the fuck is going on, stay on good terms with the bad guys. “Really, it's great. It’s like my new favorite thing. But really, I mean seriously-”

Ivan talks over him. “Good, good. So! Continue with your story. I like to hear about the Rainbow; they are very fun, da?”

Alfred chokes. Okay. Okay. He can get out of this. He can, um... “Yeah, Rainbow is _great_! Totally my favorite place to hang, especially with that sick puppy Gupta. He's so wild, I barely remember my name when he's done with me.”

Ivan raises an eyebrow. “You are at the Rainbow often? What do you do that you can afford such trips?”

“I... Haha.” _Shit_. “I don't... Actually go. Too often. All my friends go. Sometimes they throw parties and invite me. I'm kind of unemployed at the moment.” It's the story Alfred has been giving everyone else. Unemployed, fired from his job back home, moved to the city for a fresh start. Everyone buys him drinks.

“Really?” Ivan smiles even wider. This boy is practically walking into his web, eyes wide open. “You know, I think I have an opening if you are looking for work. Why don't you come to my office? We will talk privately.” He doesn't give Alfred much choice, already pulling him off the bar stool and leading him into his office by the elbow. He plops him down in the chair and closes the door behind them, lowering the noise of the bar. “Now then!”

Oh My God. OH My GOD. Alfred is in SUCH deep shit! He should never have taken the undercover gig, this is so not his thing! “I- I'm sorry, Mr. Braginski, but I mean, listen, I'm sure I'll find something that's not-” _Illegal_? “Night hours! I'm really not good with night jobs, they're bad for me. I'm not a night person. More of a day person. Or something.”

“Good, is day job.” Ivan pulls his files down. Then he pauses and looks at Alfred seriously. He tries to adopt an expression that is worn, not frightening. It's kind of hard for him. “We may be frank now, da? No one else to hear.”

Shit. SHIT. He is going to die. This man is going to shoot Alfred dead and deliver him to the police personally. Oh God. He sits very, very still. “I don't know what you're talking about.” Fuck! That's what people say _after_ the accuser accuses! “I mean... What?”

Ivan chuckles. That scared bunny face is cute on this cocky, confident young man. He likes it very much. However, at the moment he needs him to feel less frightened and more trusting. “Please relax. You must be a rookie. I understand; I was very much the same when I first started this undercover work.”

 _He's going to die. He's going to be shot and cut up into little pieces and_... wait, what? Alfred’s heart nearly stops.  “You're a cop? Oh my God, you're a _COP_?”  He tries to link his sparse knowledge of Ivan Braginski to the world of law enforcement. “No. Are you _serious_?!”

Ivan cannot believe this is going to be so easy. It's almost disappointing; he had a whole backstory planned, all sorts of ways to fill in the holes. At least he can still make use of his badge collection. He picked out a nice one earlier, one that matches his story. It's older, from one of the first cops he killed. Ah, memories. He takes it out of a coat pocket and slides it across the desk. “Please be keeping your voice down. We do not want them to hear, and the walls are not so thick. But it _is_ true. I have been undercover for a long time. I must be doing a good job, if I surprised you!”

Alfred’s head is reeling, even as he leans over to get a better look at the badge. It’s _real._ “But... But you're on our suspect list for _EVERYTHING_! How can you be a cop? You're like the Big Bad that invented Bad!”

So many compliments! Ivan is almost blushing. “What I do is greatly exaggerated. Once people began to talk, the police could not ignore me or it would seem suspicious. I have helped to fake a few deaths, and, yes, sometimes killed. Is an unfortunate part of the job, but for the better of the city.”

Alfred is absolutely floored. He's been hunting for leads on a cop this whole damn time! Apparently a really, really good cop. “This is unbelievable. I... why are you even telling me this? This is way above my clearance!”

Ivan takes his seat behind the desk, trying to adopt a mentor-like gaze. “So your snooping does not blow my cover, and because I am needing some help. As you may have guessed, I am somewhat out of touch with activities at the station. Given recent events, I thought it best to keep better informed. So, will you help me?”

“I... Yeah. Yeah, absolutely, I'll give you whatever you need!” Clearly, that's the best thing for everyone. Alfred will be like a super-spy, a real hero! Like Ivan, undercover for all those years, getting lost in it; man, that must've been rough. “Whatever I can do, just let me know. You can count on me!”

Ivan reaches across the desk to take his hands, patting them. “Excellent! You may say you are working for me now, if any of my employees ask. A...seeker of new investments. Investment Consult. Does that sound right?”

“Yeah, that could work.” Alfred nods. Investment Consult. Sounds like something that won't get him killed; at least, not too easily.


	28. My Only Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tino is horrified to discover that Berwald knows the truth about his past, until Berwald shares a secret of his own that brings them closer than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews, lovely readers!
> 
> Just in case: **Trigger Warnings** for mentions of domestic violence and suicide.

It has been a couple of days since Berwald began displaying this awkward affection, and at the moment Tino is a little scared to walk through the clinic doors. Not scared of Bernie, really. Rather, he’s scared that if this strangely intimate talking (and hugging) continues, his heart will wind up road-kill. Resolving to keep things professional today, he slips into the kitchen and finds Bernie already there, staring at the door and waiting for him.

“Hey!” says Tino, his heart fluttering hard against his ribs. Berwald was waiting for him; no, not for him, for the _supplies_. He forces his heart back in his chest, where it belongs. “I got more syringes, some stitch packs, some antiseptic, and a bunch of bandage rolls. I know we're running low. AND...” He pauses, blinking at the weird brown mess sitting on a plate at the table, as though it is waiting for him. “What is that? Is it... is it still alive?”

Berwald slumps a little. He _tries_ to cook, it just never turns out like the pictures. Tino is always making things for him, and he wants to return the favor. He owes the nurse just about everything. “S'dinner. Supposed t’be beef stir fry. It's good, just doesn't look right.”

“Awe...” Tino’s heart flutters again. He takes the plate and tosses it on the counter, searching the fridge for lettuce, tomato, and Ranch dressing. When in doubt, anything can be made better with Ranch. “You're really sweet, Bernie.” He tries not to blush, and catches a rise of color in Bernie’s face as well.

“Least I can do. Y're always helping me.” The doctor turns away, almost wishing he had patients to check on. The day has been incredibly quiet.

Tino cuts up some tomatoes and quickly turns the mess into two salads, which he sets on the table between them. He can't help being a little flirtatious, a little bold, since the first comment made Bernie blush. The man is usually so stone-faced, it’s fun to get a bit of emotion out of him. Once they’re both seated he kicks his foot and lets their ankles touch. “How was it today? Quiet?”

Bernie stiffens for a moment. This is how he used to eat with Victor, just barely touching under the table, teasing if they were in the mood...but he can't let that affect him so much. This is Tino, and it's just an ankle. He doesn’t mean anything by it. “Very quiet. Cleaned. Read. Called Holly, too. S'doing better, staying with that junkie kid.”

“They together?” Tino asks. He loves gossip despite all his efforts to resist it, and Holly is practically a celebrity to the junkies around here.

“Didn't ask,” Berwald replies, shrugging. He's no good at judging that kind of thing. He has taught himself to ignore couples. It hurts too much when they show up otherwise, begging him to save their lover when he couldn't save his own.

Tino smiles a little, wondering if he should've expected as much. He pulls his ankle back and lets their feet press together companionably, pushing a plate at Bernie. “Eat. Did I tell you I almost got lost on my way to the new med supply place? I had to call Matt for directions. He's dropping off some fluid bags tomorrow, by the way.”

Bernie grips the fork so tightly that it begins to bend in his fist. He has never liked Mattias; the man is rude, addicted, and often cruel. Now that he knows just how cruel, he is not sure he can stomach the sight of him. “Why do y’still talk t'him?”

There’s something more than dislike to the tension in Berwald’s body, and it makes Tino nervous. His own body goes a little tight, and he refuses to look up from his salad when he answers. “What do you mean? He's a jerk, but he gets us what we need.” 

'Jerk' is an understatement, but Tino’s over it. Over it, over it _, over it_. No matter what happened before, it's not going to happen again, not if he doesn't let it. He drops his fork, licking dressing from his lips. “I know how to handle him.”

Handle him? How does _anyone_ handle that kind of thing? The fact that Tino went on with his life certainly proves he is made of stronger stuff than Berwald, but sometimes Bernie wonders if the reason Tino works so much is to keep everything else buried. “I don't want him near y'. Not ever again,” he growls.

Tino reels back, shocked by the way he ground those words like an angry dog. There has never been a moment when he feared Bernie, but this comes close. He shifts in his seat, trying to take that in, process it, figure him out. When he was with Mattias, he knew to expect hell. He knew when he tried to leave he would be lucky to make it out alive. When he finally did get out, it was either curl up in a ball and never let another human being touch him again, or dig his way out of the hole with his bare hands. Talk to people. Force himself to make friends. Force himself to keep busy until he could fall blissfully comatose into bed every night. And above all, never, ever think about it - except when he sees Matt.

“Why?” Tino tries to sound flippant, though he’s certain it comes out a little shaky. “Jealous? You have no reason to be, trust me.”

Bernie slams his fork into the table. “No! I just can't stand the thought of him hurting y'again!”

The yell echoes all around them, as though every ghost in the house is screaming. Tino snaps back on instinct, his entire body recoiling, and then he goes as rigid as a deer in headlights. That scares him. He used to go still like that when Mattias got angry, because if he tried to run away Matt would pull him back and make things hurt until he swore he'd never leave.

This is _not_ Matt. This is Bernie. But this is Bernie looking furious and sounding terrified, which, coupled with those words, can only mean...  “Someone told you.”

Berwald hates the frightened expression on Tino’s face. He never wanted Tino to be frightened, not of anything, and especially not of him. He draws back, trying to give him space. Tino looks about ready to bolt. He doesn't know what he'll do if that happens. Tino might run and never come back, and then...then he'll have lost everything all over again. “I knew Mattias was arrested. S'all over the place, that Kirkland caught 'im. And I heard some folks saying he got off too light with the rehab bargain, but I never knew it was you. Never even bothered t'ask. Tino, I'm...I shouldn't've let him in here t’begin with!”

So there it is. Someone blabbed. Someone told Bernie that the poor miserable puppy who'd put up with the abuse for _years_ before being left for dead in their basement is his good little nurse. His jaw squares tight. He'd begged them all, _begged_ them, not to let Bernie know. Now his whole stupid mistake is there on the table, and Bernie fucking pities him. Wants to protect him, like a kid brother or something. And he keeps giving him hugs, telling him how much he... oh dear God. “That's what this whole week's been about, isn't it?”

Berwald frowns. “What d'ya mean?”

“The hugging. The sudden interest in my life. The ‘Oh, Tino, I don't know what I'd do without you,’ every time I see you. Do you really think I didn't notice you were acting like I was your-” _boyfriend-_ “pity case?!”

Tino stands, pacing toward the sink, not sure what to say or do to make all this go away. “I have been over this for _years_ now. Two, to be precise. And I'm _fine_. I'm not in love with his miserable junkie ass anymore, and I've picked up a fine right hook since he last tried to tangle with me that I'd love to show him. I don't need to be coddled or hugged. I'm _over_ it. I don't want anyone thinking about it anymore. It's done.”

“Tino, that's not...” Bernie stops, head falling into his hands. He doesn't know how to explain it without making things worse. He's never been very good with words, and he was always so glad that Tino didn't seem to need them to understand. “I don't pity y'. Not like that. I think y're strong, much stronger than me.” He pauses for another moment, trying to gather the words to explain. “Learning that made me think about how much y've done, and how little I've done for y’. I thought, if anything ever...ever happened, I just wanted y't'know - y'really are important t'me.”

Tino’s breath catches and he swallows, blinking back tears. He can't believe what he's hearing. “Bernie...” He shakes his head slowly, offering a wry smile. “You've done a lot for me. A lot. And... You're really important to me too. I honestly don't know how I'd handle it if you weren’t in my life.” Sighing a little, he turns away and tries to get the lump in his throat back under control. “There are days when I think I'm just about ready to lose it, and then I'm here, and you make it better.”

There's a little hand on Berwald’s shoulder, a voice whispering in his ear, _"Tell him, daddy. You need to tell him. Doesn't he deserve to know?"_ He looks behind him; there's nothing there, even though he can _feel_ the presence of his son. He shivers and tries to collect himself. The truth is that Tino has done more than he knows. It’s a secret he’s locked away for years, afraid what Tino would think of him if he knew. However, Bernie has never been very good at refusing Peter, especially since his death. “Tino, I need t'tell y'something. Will y'come back and sit?”

Tino’s heart seizes. Perhaps he said too much. Perhaps Bernie doesn't want to string him along anymore, wants to set some boundaries. Perhaps it is exactly the opposite. That's too much to hope for, isn't it? He turns around again, but the look on Bernie's face is grave, so grave that it stuns him, and he feels the urge to run. “I... I'm sorry, I didn't...” _I never meant to make you look at me like that._ He backs up toward the door.

Oh no. Now he's going to run, and it will be too late! Bernie will lose him. He reaches out, not standing, because he never, ever wants to see Tino afraid of him again, but begging him to wait. He has to say it. Say it now, and hope it comes out right. “You saved m'life!”

“ _What_?” Tino stops mid-stumble, hanging in that doorway as though the words themselves have blown him there. For a long moment, he has no idea what to say. 'You saved my life'? That's not something you just _say_. He tries to think back, to weed through all the stupid things he's ever done for the doctor. Well, he helped him clean up. Not that he needed much help; by the time Tino got there, he seemed bound and determined to do it. Once the clinic started Tino helped him with patients, helped him every time he hurt himself on the job. None of that was life-threatening, except maybe the alcohol. “What are you talking about?”

“Come sit,” Bernie pleads, trying to buy time to figure out how to explain this. Now that it's out in the open he can't take it back, and it’s clear Tino won’t be satisfied without the rest of the story.

Tino returns to the table warily, watching Bernie as he takes a seat and trying to see inside his head, or at least wishing he could. This is scaring him. Things are coming to light that he never expected, not even in this whole week of awkward. He swallows and lets his hands fall flat against the wood. He will not let himself fidget. He will not let his nerves show. “So... Talk.”

It takes Berwald another moment to speak, and when he does he cannot look at Tino. “After m'family...after the accident, y'know I didn't take it well. Got t'the point where I was drunk more than not, and angry with the whole world. I’d lost _everything_ : m'husband, m'son, m'job - all gone. S'everything I cared about, and I wasn't good at dealin' with it. So one day, I... I made a deal with God.” He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. It's hard not to fall into the memory of that time, when he reeked of sadness and whiskey, when it felt like all that was left of his heart was a bloody, gaping wound.

Tino remembers when Berwald was so lost he didn't speak at all most of the time. He remembers the house being dark, the drapes closed, the whole place shut like a crypt. And Bernie in it, a living mummy preserved in whiskey and his bathrobe. He doesn't ask for more, he knows Bernie will tell him. Instead his hand slides closer so that the sides of his fingers press against Bernie's, not covering his hand, but touching it.

The touch brings Berwald back. He brushes his hand against Tino's, just to let him know that he's still here in the present; _they_ are still here, beyond the sorrows of their pasts. “I didn't think there was anything left for me,” he continues. “I wanted t'die, decided I should. But I promised if God gave me one good reason t'live, I wouldn't do it. I waited a while. Nothing happened, figured that was m'answer. Took a bunch of pills, washed 'em down with whiskey. And then _you_ came in.”

He looks up now and sees Tino as the angel come to save him all over again. Back then Tino had peaked inside and called his name, looking like heaven with the sun streaming in through the door he hadn’t bothered to lock. This time it's dark out, but Tino is sunshine enough on his own. “Y'were m'sign. I made m'self sick, and y'...y'saved m'life.”

Tino can't breathe. There were plenty of times when he was with Matt when he thought about... _that_. But Bernie is his everything. Every single good thing in his life wrapped up into one person. The thought of never having that, never even knowing he _could_ have that, makes him want to cry. He pulls his hand away and claps it over his mouth, trying not to sob. He saved Bernie’s life. God, or whatever's out there, brought him here that day - the day he started at the hospital and found out Doctor Berwald Oxenstierna was no longer an employee, and... the rest. The day he suddenly needed to see him above and beyond anything else, so he found Bernie’s old employment record and went to his house and banged on his door until it swung open.

Berwald knew he shouldn't have looked at Tino. He didn't want to see the rising panic in his eyes, the pity and hope and everything else. Carefully, trying not to frighten him, he reaches out, wondering if it would be okay to take Tino into his arms.

Tino goes to him without question, practically in Bernie’s lap as he hugs him unbearably tight. He never realized. He never even thought about just how fragile Berwald was then. “I'm sorry I didn't come sooner.” It's the only thing he can think to say. He tries to laugh it off. “To slap you upside your head!”

Berwald’s laugh is choked, but true. Tino _did_ slap him the one time he started slipping badly. Now he thinks he knows why; Tino understood addiction. Mattias was Tino’s vice, just as alcohol was Bernie’s: loved and hated, locked in a truly abusive relationship but unable to let go. He holds Tino close, breathing in the scent of his hair and reveling in his presence. He doesn't know what he'd do without him. “S'not your fault. I should've known y'were in pain, too. Should've done something for y'long ago.”

Shaking his head, Tino stands and smacks the back of Bernie’s head. Again. “What did I _just_ say about my issues?” It doesn't feel like 'just'. It feels like hours ago, days. He smiles down at Bernie anyway, trying to get them both out of this dark, heavy place.

Bernie rubs his head, surprised by the sudden change in atmosphere. He smiles anyway, because Tino is always doing that - making things happy again. He doesn't know how Tino has managed to heal so well. What matters, however, is that Tino _has_ healed, at least enough to be okay. Berwald intends to keep it that way. “M'still calling Luk and telling him t'come alone.”

“Don't be ridiculous!” Tino frowns, irritated by the implication. Seeing Mattias is never a _calming_ experience, but he can handle it. He’s been doing just fine so far. “I've been around him, haven't I? I'm not a bunny rabbit. But you... if you ever get to that place again, you call me. Don't hesitate. Don't wallow. Call.”

“I know,” says Berwald. He puts his hand over Tino's and squeezes it. They stay like that for a moment, feeling closer than ever now that there are no secrets between them...except maybe one. But Bernie’s not ready to admit that to himself yet, let alone Tino. He frowns a little, his mind travelling to other places so he doesn't have to think about it. “We should do something t'help Luk. S'getting bad again.”

Tino’s jaw goes tight and he looks toward the door. He knows better than anyone else what's going on there. “Short of kidnapping him, there's nothing we can do until he asks for help. You know that. He’s not ready for an intervention; he’d only resent us.”

It's not fair; it's the very worst part of Berwald’s oath - the one he took when he became a different kind of doctor. He does not interfere, does not tell the cops, does not tell _anyone_. If he did, people would stop coming to him and there might be a lot more deaths. It's always painful to watch when his patients destroy themselves, in part because he's _been_ there, and all he can do is try to steer them in a healthier direction. It's even more painful when that patient is a friend. “No harm in hoping, though.”

Tino nods a little, finally dragging his hand away. “He'll get there. And once he does, he knows who to come to.”


	29. Vice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tempts Francis into his old habits, but the discovery may destroy his relationship with Kiku.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Thank you so much for the reviews. Sorry for the long wait; we've both been really busy. But! Although this is a short chapter, it finally includes the return of Francis and Kiku.

Francis cannot say if he is waking, because he is not sure if he was ever actually asleep. His mind is running a mile a minute as he stares at the ceiling and watches the lights twirl like girls dancing at the Moulin Rouge. There is another body tangled with him, half on top of him and half at his side. It's very warm, even though he's naked and the sheets on his bed are...somewhere. He doesn't know or care; nothing really matters but watching the lights spin in and out, in and out, over the ceiling and down the wall to land on his poster of the Eifel Tower.

It feels like his body is floating with his head as the anchor. Francis forces himself to turn anyway and discovers a face beside his own. Blonde. Green, wide eyes darting about, as though expecting some flying apparition to attack them. Thick eyebrows. Oh. Arthur.

There is no sign of Foo Foo. There never is when he's with Francis. With a sigh of relief he's almost afraid to breathe, Artie reaches over and brushes the lovely blonde hair from Francis’ face. He's gorgeous like this, fucked out of his mind and stoned to match. It had taken a little more coaxing this time to convince Frannie to take a hit – he’d claimed he was off the habit. But they all claim so sometimes. It took barely a breath of the stuff before Francis was indulging with him, wrapped around him, breathing in smoke and riding his cock like he'd been dying for a taste. “Christ, you're incredible. I could fuck you for ages.”

“You're welcome to, as long as you pay.” Francis laughs, breathless and too loudly. Sex is easy for him, and in moments like this it is completely uncomplicated. It's just a thing that makes everything feel better, takes them both closer to ecstasy. His hand strokes idly over Arthur’s skin, exploring the texture with no real goal in mind.

Artie chuckles, feeling halfway pleasant for the first time in months. Leaning in, he kisses Francis’ mouth and slides his hands down, gripping Francis’ thighs so that he can pull him into his lap. He lets his head fall back while the whore settles above him, reaching toward the side table to search for his baggie. They need another, since Frannie smoked the last of the second spliff. Shows how over it he is. “God, I missed this. Got you for the whole night, don't I?”

“ _Yes, mon cher_ ,” Francis promises, grinding against Artie's renewed interest. He’s actually rather fond of nights with this particular cop. Perhaps it has something to do with the drugs that they smoke together, that he takes and gives to Artie with his mouth around his cock, that Artie snorts off his stomach...he forgot how good it felt. No, not forgot; he could _never_ really forget. His addictions have been on his mind every waking moment, following him to his dreams, making his fingers twitch and his body ache. He kept pushing it back, trying to concentrate on other things. Then Arthur showed up at his door, already smelling of sweet smoke and tempting him, promising to share, to pay for a full night, lighting up and blowing it in his face...and Francis was lost. He doesn't care that he broke his word anymore. He can't even remember why it matters. There’s only Arthur, the room spinning around them, and whatever magic Artie's got in his hand.

XXX

Kiku is supposed to meet one of his regular johns in two hours, but the lobby isn’t busy so he has some time to kill until then. Luckily, he knows just who to kill it with. He hasn't had the chance to chat with Francis in a couple of days. It will be good for them to catch up, and maybe have some no-frills fun. But when he reaches the third floor, where Francis’ room is, he can smell smoke all the way down the hall. Kiku grits his teeth, hoping and praying that he is wrong, wrong, _wrong_. He can't... Francis _can't_ be at it again. Yet as he nears the door, it's only getting stronger. For a moment he glares up at the rose painted on the wood above the room number, steadying his nerves. Then he grabs the doorknob and pushes into the room without knocking.

Kiku is not wrong. Francis is there, sprawled on top of that _damnable_ cop, high as a paper kite. His heart, his stomach, and everything else in him sink straight down. He's hyperventilating, and so angry he feels like he might faint. His fists curl as he stands in the doorway, ignoring the smarmy asshole like he always does (unless he's being paid not to). His attention remains solely on Francis. How could he? How _COULD_ he, after all that they went through?

“Francis?” His voice comes out low and deadly, like a snake's hiss.

Francis had ignored the open door; it happened often enough. The doors in the Rainbow are rarely locked, because it is safer for them to know that someone can get in than to fear that they will not be able to get out. It's the voice that makes his brain jumpstart. The effort to turn his head this time is too much, so he just lets it drop down on Artie’s chest and refuses to look. He knows he's in trouble, but for some reason his brain won't quite process why. “Oui?” His voice is scratchy, like he's spent the night screaming. Or smoking.

“ _DAMMIT FRANCIS!_ ” Absolutely furious, Kiku grabs the nearest object and flings it toward the bed. The vase of roses misses the couple and shatters against the back wall. Shaking with rage, Kiku wheels around and flees back down the hall. He wants to beat something to a pulp. Why can't _anyone_ keep their goddamned promises?! He's crying. Why is he crying? Why didn't he _expect_ this, like all the other bullshit that has made his life miserable? Everyone Kiku trusts hurts him. Everyone he cares for, everyone he loves... No one can keep a promise, so why does this one hurt so much?

Francis almost falls off Arthur as he ducks, reflexes slow and stumbling. He gets a mouthful of Arthur, tasting of chemicals, and now he remembers. Shit. Kiku is angry and it's his fault. He _swore_ to Kiku that he'd never touch the stuff again. He tries to scramble off of Artie, falling off the bed onto the pile of sheets. He pulls them over his hips and tries to run after Kiku, but he's tangled now, and he can't get his feet under him. The walls are spinning. He doesn't even know which one has the door. “Fuck.”


	30. Allegiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time Yao pays a visit to Ivan, and offers a gift of his own. Meanwhile, Raivis discovers Eduard's secret, and worse - Ivan's reaction.

The trip to Ivan's house turned out to be a delightful one. It is very unusual for Yao to travel without an entourage - a heavily armed one, at that. Yet there is a certain amount of freedom in leaving them behind. With only Sebastian at his side, there is no need to scold anyone for improper behavior, nor does he worry about drawing as much attention. When they reach the gate he looks to Sebastian, who promptly presses the intercom.

There is a pause, then a bitter female voice. “What do _you_ want?”

Sebastian and Yao exchange a look. They've both been warned about Ivan’s little sister. Sebastian steps forward, turning on all the charm in his voice. “We are here to see Mr. Braginski regarding a business matter. If this is a bad time, we will call to schedule another appointment.”

Natalia growls. She knows very well why they've come. It's simply unfair that Ivan should turn his attentions not only elsewhere, but to an _enemy_. Still, Ivan will be angry if she dismisses them. Sometimes she wonders if his ire would be better than his ignorance. Clearly it has worked well for Yao. “Fine. Disarm, or _I_ will disarm you.”

Sebastian smiles benignly, disarming without complaint and helping Yao do the same, stowing all of their weaponry in the flower pot by the door. The minute the door opens, he is searching for Grell. Yao told him to find her and cure his depression. “I shall... if you do not mind?”

Yao waves Sebastian off. “Have fun.” A guard stands just inside the door alongside Natalia Braginski, waiting to take him to Ivan. He follows the guard and ignores the lady. He is here to see Ivan, and it will take a great deal more than a few nasty looks to frighten him away.

Natalia glares at him all the same, twirling a knife easily through her fingers. She could end it right here. Slit open his throat, add fresh stains to the carpet. However, that would begin a war when they’ve just managed a truce. That would mean receiving Ivan's anger when all she desires is his regard. She considers running ahead, just to see his eyes light up when he hears about their guest. But it would kill her to see that his eyes do not light for her. “He is in the front office,” she says, then sweeps away.

Yao watches her go, painfully aware of the distaste in her eyes, of the reason for it. The silent guard is far better company. He stands outside the office, waiting politely for the guard to make the proper introduction.

When the door opens Ivan is on the phone, and he holds up a hand to silence the guard. “Da, da. I understand. Give him what he needs, do your best. …yes, of course. I will inform Mr. Laurinaitis of the change.” _Eventually._ The doctor wants to give Feliks something stronger for pain, and a weaker cocktail of drugs in the hopes of bringing up his strength. Ivan swore to spare no expenses, and he is a man of his word. He just can't spare Toris yet; there’s no need to tell him something that will make him upset before he can allow the man to go running to the hospital. “Thank you.”

Yao listens to the conversation, wondering idly if he has any reason to be jealous. He does not think so. Once the call ends, Ivan turns his attention to the guard. The guard says something in Russian while ushering Yao inside. Yao smiles. “Comrade?”

Ivan brightens instantly, all thoughts of someone else's dying lover gone from his mind. He stands, coming around the desk to kiss Yao's hand. The guard, to his credit, does not even blink. “Welcome, Yao. I did not expect you.”

Yao offers him an easy smirk, the kind he reserves for beauties like Ivan who seem to _understand_ him. His gaze flits to the guard, who takes the hint to leave and shut the door. Grinning wider, he steps into Ivan and lets their hands remain intertwined. “I thought I would come see how you are faring. I have thought of you often.”

“As have I. Especially in my dreams - all perfectly respectable, of course.” His knuckles stroke over Yao's cheek.

“Of course.” Yao leans into the touch for a too-short moment before dancing from Ivan’s grasp. “I have a little present for you.”

Ivan’s eyes follow down the line of Yao’s back, all the way to his hips. Very pretty. All smooth angles, with that long black hair sweeping over it. He wants to see the dragon again; wants to find out where that tail goes. “Oh?”

Yao glances back over his shoulder and smiles. “Mm-hm. Your guards did not frisk me. So I suggest you come find it.” He turns when he reaches the wall, pressing his shoulders against it and spreading his legs a little. “I think you'll like it.”

Perhaps Ivan will get to see the dragon after all. In two long strides he's standing in front of Yao, running his hands from Yao’s hips up to the insides of his arms. “And where should I look?”

Yao cocks his head, letting his arms stretch above his head. Ivan's touch is strong and his eyes are hungry. He does not mind it - very much enjoys it, in fact. “Where's the fun in telling you?” he asks, peering at him through his lashes.

Those big hands slide up Yao's arms, then down his chest and around his back before moving lower. If the cops ever frisked someone like this, there would be charges. At least, in any other town there would be; here it’s practically common practice. “Do your guards ever frisk?” Yao continues. “They should, you know. If they frisk like you, I think your enemies would be happy to be searched.”

Ivan squeezes when he reaches Yao's ass, groping him openly. “They are a bit rougher. I am thinking you would not like it so much. There would be bruises.” He lets go, hands wandering until they brush against something in Yao’s pocket. “Ah. Happy to see me?”

“Very,” says Yao, spreading his legs wider so that he can feel the prize. It’s an antique pocket watch, with a face consisting of ten golden petals that, when pressed, open like a sunflower. One of the petals winds the watch. The others are welled in a tiny compartment, which can be easily filled with drugs or poison. These petals are nine thin needles, a helpful relic of a time when assassinations were a pastime of the rich and suspicious. He'd retrieved it from a good friend and antique procurement expert in Beijing.

Ivan’s fingers trace the metal warmed by Yao's body. That's already treasure enough, but when he draws it from Yao’s pocket he goes nearly speechless. He's never seen anything like it. He cannot think of anything to say in response, so he kisses the man soundly instead.

Laughing into the kiss, Yao wraps his arm around Ivan’s neck as his other hand falls to touch the watch, pulling out one of the tiny needles so that he can show Ivan the danger in the piece. “You admired my jewelry. I thought about finding a ring for you, but this seemed far more appropriate.”

Ivan takes a closer look at the piece, letting Yao show him what it does even as he avoids all the points. Part of the fun of being with Yao is that he's still not sure if the man is trying to kill him. “Is beautiful. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Yao smirks wryly, reinserting the petal and closing the watch. He slides it into Ivan’s back pocket, using it as an excuse to grip his ass. “Now... Tell me about these dreams you've been having,” he says, his body pushing up against him so that Ivan can feel just how _happy_ he is to see him.

Every time they meet the pair gets closer to falling into bed. Ivan wonders if he should suggest actually attempting to find a bed. Unfortunately, he has things to take care of. He is a busy man and rather used to making appointments when he wants sex. Somehow he doubts Yao will appreciate that. “There are many different dreams. I can be creative, after all.”

Yao laughs, reaching up and tousling his lovely blonde hair before trailing his fingers down to Ivan’s cheek. While he desperately wants to take this all the way to their coupled climax, there are things between them that have not changed enough yet. Yao refuses to be that exposed with Ivan, with anyone. Not yet. Besides, teasing is always more fun in the end. “You _are_ creative. You brought me my most precious possession, after all.” He smiles and pulls at the hem of Ivan’s shirt.

Ivan rests his hands on either side of Yao's head, giving him room to play. “That is how I am still alive, da?” The fingers sweep under his shirt, across his skin, and he shivers. Between the two of them, they could have the city on its knees, and glad to be there.

XXX

School truly and most undeniably sucks. Raivis hasn't seen Kaoru all day, and he hasn't seen Eddie either. He’s starting to think that he repels people, but that might be for the best. He doesn’t feel like dealing with them. Since he’s fairly certain Eddie headed to their apartment above the bar after school, he decides to go all the way home to the manor house. It may be time for a slightly apologetic chat with Ivan. However, when he reaches the man’s office, what does he find? Ivan tousled and all-too happy, yet again seducing Kaoru's uncle. That should be a crime against nature.

“Gross,” he mutters to himself. Shuddering, he heads toward his room. To his continuing misfortune, he finds the door locked. When he attempts to get in through the bathroom he shares with Eddie, he finds Grell on her hands and knees, skirt up past her hips, being plowed into his bed by... Well, _that's_ a gorgeous suit. He'd be disgusted if he wasn't a hormonal teenage boy who could get hard from a stiff breeze. Annoyed, he stomps back into Eddie's room and throws himself onto the bed, only to hear a loud crunch of papers. Frowning, he rolls over and throws the blanket away. Raivis’ eyes widen at the sight. Brochures. College brochures. The kind you look at when you're thinking about _college_.

His heart begins to hammer. What the hell _is_ this? This... this can't be right. It's probably just crap Eddie got from the guidance counselor. But what about the other papers here? Notes, print-outs from websites; she must really be trying hard to convince him to go. Or... Or maybe _Eduard_ is thinking about it. _NO_. No, he has to know Ivan will never let him leave!

Throat tight with apprehension, Raivis rolls from the bed and begins pulling up the covers, throwing the pillows off, and searching for further evidence that Eddie may leave them... Him. By the time he gets through all the crap in Eduard's drawers, under his bed, and in his closet, he finds enough material on colleges to make him seriously anxious. Well, not just anxious. He’s also really, really pissed. Eddie _cannot_ be thinking about leaving him. He can't.

Raivis is close to hyperventilating, and then he finds a pros/cons list in one of Eddie's drawers. That does it. He's down the stairs, brochures clutched in his fist a moment later, yelling for the man who raised him. He screams a word he hasn't used since he was about ten years old. “ _DAD_!”

In his office Ivan freezes, his brain flooded with more emotions than he understands. That's Raivis' voice. Raivis, who calls him "Ivan," and "sir," and on rare occasions, when he's feeling particularly insolent, "father." For a moment Ivan doesn't believe that voice can be calling for him. For Raivis to call him _that_ ,something must be very, very wrong.

He's off of Yao in a heartbeat, swiping his favorite gun from his desk and sprinting into the hall. Raivis is red in the face, angrier than he has ever seen the boy, yet there's no obvious danger. He slides the gun into his belt, still wary, and approaches Raivis like a wounded, dangerous animal. “What is wrong?”

Raivis doesn't care that Ivan's rumpled, that he was _clearly_ up to something in that office. He just knows that this is bad and that he has to _do_ something about it. He slams the brochures and papers to the floor, letting them scatter all over the rug.

“He's- _look_!” Raivis throws his hands out. “LOOK!” He's crying, fists curled, body bent forward and shaking as he screams, frail in spite of his own noise. The guards are there, _Yao_ is there, and yet he doesn't care if they see him break down.

Raivis is so upset that Ivan does as he's told immediately, expecting to find pictures of someone dead or taken. Taken...oh God, Eduard. He's worked so hard to protect his boys, but he can't imagine anything else that would cause Raivis to fall apart like this. He kneels down, hands shaking as he turns over a paper...but it's just a brochure, pictures of young adults smiling with _California Institute of Technology_ swirling over the top. The rest of the papers are more of the same. It's all college information. His brow furrows and he looks back at Raivis, confused. “Is there significance to this? A warning, a code?”

Raivis stares, absolutely stunned. Is he kidding? Is Ivan seriously that oblivious?! Eduard is leaving them. _Leaving_! “He's LEAVING!” Raivis yells. He earns nothing but stares. Why isn't anyone else freaking out? “Are you kidding me? He's looking at _colleges_! He's going away!” Still nothing. Ivan now seems concerned for his mental health. “Well don't just stand there, DO something!”

Ivan glances down at the papers in his hands, then back to Raivis, and it takes him much longer than it should to put things together. He blames Yao's earlier distractions for that. He takes a closer look at the pages, some of them with Eduard's hand writing on them, and starts to smile.

“So, Eddie has been conducting research of his own?” he says. A few of the guards take a step back preparing for a storm. Ivan's moods are unpredictable at best. He has never once harmed his sons, but there are always rumors; it's not his fault there are signs of abuse all over the house. Most of those marks were there when he moved in, courtesy of Mr. Gaul. “He wants to leave, you think?”

A sick feeling starts to gather in Raivis’ gut as he watches Ivan consider the papers so calmly. He can't breathe. “Yes,” he gasps out, staring wide-eyed. “Yes, he wants to leave. It's all he fucking talks about.” But he never thought Eddie would actually do it, and he certainly never thought Ivan would _let_ him.

“Really?” Ivan brightens, looking once more over the array of flyers. “These are very good schools. I have looked into several myself. Is good to know he likes them! I am glad he wants to leave. That will make it easier when I tell him that he must.” Raivis looks like he is about to bolt or pass out. That won't do, he's got himself far too worked up. Ivan can't understand it; he expected Eduard to be upset when he broached the subject, since the boy has not said one word about college to him. He reaches out and pulls his son into something that is both an embrace and a trap.

“Why so sad, Raivis?” he asks. “I am wanting my sons to have good education. You will get one too.” Though not like this. Ivan wants to keep Raivis close. He has big plans for him, and Eddie...well, for his plans to work, Eduard must leave and learn to make his own way. That he has already taken these steps on his own makes Ivan’s heart swell with pride.

Raivis finds himself in Ivan’s arms, numb, nearly ready to pass out. Oh God. Oh my God. Ivan is actually _letting_ Eddie... “You want him to leave,” he breathes out, trying to push out of his hold. “You want him to _leave_ , and you're keeping me here! You want him _AWAY_ from me, is that it?!” He pushes hard and stumbles out of Ivan’s grasp.

Ivan has lied to his sons, that's true, but he knows when it is time for the truth. At least, a little bit of it. “Da, I want him to leave. Be happy! Is good for him. Good for you too, you will see.”

Raivis feels like he might actually pass out. Breathing out, he looks toward the door, looks at Yao, looks at Ivan. No. He can't let this happen, he can't just _let_ Eddie go. He can't. He lets out a sound, runs for the door, and throws it open. He’s not sure where he's going, only that he needs time away from everything.

The bodyguards are already on their phones, and two race after the boy, keeping pace but aware that they must not be seen by their charge. Ivan himself sighs and rubs his temples. This is not at all what he expected. Raivis and Eduard are not even close anymore; they fight all the time. Then again, perhaps he _does_ understand. He has always been with his sisters and he cannot imagine being without them, even when they annoy him.

Well. There's nothing for it. This is how things must be. Those boys are an investment. If he wants the return to be worthwhile, he must keep to the plan. He gathers the papers together, intent on seeing Eduard's perspective without ever talking to him. Ivan had been hoping for law school, but most of these are technology programs. Still, there is merit to such a choice. He gives Yao an apologetic smile. “I am sorry we were interrupted. Family first, da?”

Yao nods benignly, straightening his clothes. “Another time,” he concedes, heading for the door and not even bothering to call for Sebastian. Or look back at Ivan. He is a little sad about their lost time, although he knows he shouldn't be. He wants Ivan to have what he needs - and what he needs is family. When has he ever been so considerate of a lover? The thought confuses him, but does not shock him. Ivan is a different breed of man altogether.


	31. Accidents Don’t Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lukas is hurt during a violent argument with Mattias. The fallout triggers poisonous memories for Tino and a confrontation between the Clinic and Mattias.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! We have a long, exciting chapter for you today.
> 
> Fair **WARNING** : This chapter includes explicit instances of domestic violence.

It doesn’t take much these days to make him angry, and Mattias doesn’t know why. It’s just stupid little things set that him off, to the point where nothing seems to matter but breaking shit and making everything burn. Today it’s his ashtrays. They’re all in the goddamned dish washer, because they’d all fucking reeked and Lukas, who is supposed to _deal_ with these things, never bothered to run it. So now he needs to wait half an hour for a goddamned cigarette in his own apartment or use a cereal bowl, which is just sad. Luk is in the shower. He wants a fucking cigarette.

Mattias jerks the bathroom door open and reaches behind the curtain, groping until he finds a skinny wrist and clamps down. Lukas yelps, yanked into cool air still dripping wet and naked. Matt drags him into the kitchen, and Luk grabs hold of the kitchen counter to keep from slipping on the floor. He stares at Mattias, trying to figure out what the hell is happening. Matt has that wild look in his eyes, the one that tells him this is going to end badly no matter what he does. “What's wrong?”

“How many times have I told you, HUH? How many times?!” Matt yanks him over to the dishwasher by the wrist, showing him his crime. “You run that goddamned dishwasher the second it's full - you don't leave me without my fucking ashtrays, you understand me?” He lets go of Luk to yank the washer open, throwing him off-balance so that he slides to the floor. “Look at that shit! How long's it been like this? You wanna tell me what I keep you for?”

Lukas stares. Is he kidding? Sometimes Matt will make him cringe only to laugh and pat him on the back instead of smacking him. He can't remember when he started flinching away every time the man raised his hand. It didn't used to be like that. But what else can he do? “I can't run it while the shower's on. You know that, it affects the temperature.”

“I don't care about your _temperature_! I need my ashtrays, you little-” He brings the dishwasher door down on Luk's head, half enraged and half resolved that this is what he needs to learn. Lukas yells, bringing his hands up to protect his head from the blows until he slumps to the floor. Mattias stares down at him, breathing hard.

Lukas remains curled like that for a moment, his head pounding and his hands throbbing. The fresh bruises on his fingers are sure to make driving the ambulance _so_ much fun. It's not like he can let Matt drive it anymore; there's no guarantee he won't be too high to see the road. Yet somehow, even high, Mattias manages to do his job. He's good with emergencies, good at acting quickly. It's one of the things that first drew Luk to his partner; that and his smile, his bright laugh. Luk knew, of course, what everyone else said about him. But Matt had made up for his past. He’d gotten help, and now the drugs are just…just to help deal with things. Matt just gets frustrated, Matt just needs a little understanding, Matt has no one else - and neither does he.

Lukas drags himself up, feeling so dizzy it makes him sick to his stomach. All he needs to do is find the sink and wash one of ashtrays. It's fine. Everything’s fine. “I’m sorry, I'll wash them now.”

The rage deflates slowly, seeping from Matt’s blood until there is nothing there but sadness. Fuck, that had to hurt. That was stupid, wasn't it? He'd done it again - lost his head. That's why he needs Luk. Luk gets it, knows him better than anyone else, except maybe... well, unlike that exception, Luk’s still here. He's never going to leave.

“Hey,” Mattias says softly. “I'm sorry, Luk. I just lost it for a minute, I didn't really...” He reaches for Luk’s head, trying to see if he’s alright.

Even though the voice has gone soft and kind (as it always does), Lukas instinctively flinches back from the hand. His foot suddenly slips on the wet tile, and his bruised hand refuses to close on the edge of the sink. Dizzy and unable to see straight, he grasps whatever he can reach: the dish drainer, still full of the glassware that couldn’t go in the washer. It crashes to the floor with Lukas on top, and he yelps like an injured dog.

Matt steps back in time to avoid the falling debris, but Luk is lying on a pile of broken dishes and - Oh Fuck. There's blood. His eyes widen as it pools, and for a minute his head blanks out. He gathers the first aid kit on autopilot, his mind running through the steps that need to be taken to keep him stable. _Stop the blood flow. Don’t move the glass, let it block the wound. Six minutes to block the arteries if one got nicked._ But when he turns Luk over and sees the big shard in his stomach, he realizes he needs to get him to the clinic _now_. He does what he can with their kit, lifts Luk into his arms, grabs his keys, and runs barefoot out the door to his car. He grabs a blanket from the back seat to wrap around him and speeds down the street, trying to keep Lukas conscious with one firm hand on his wrist.

XXX

It’s been a fairly quiet evening for Berwald and Tino, and yet a very pleasant one. Ever since they finally opened up to one another and admitted, well, _nearly_ everything, they’ve both felt a little freer. The house itself does not feel so stuffy and closed up, and Tino caught Berwald actually standing in front of the open back door, feeling the breeze and looking out on the lot behind the clinic.

They're doing inventory now, looking through the supplies and trying to balance the books as legally as they can. Unfortunately, although Bernie is feeling better than he has in years, the clinic's budget is not doing so well. There have been a lot of patients who couldn't pay lately and not enough donations. They’re going to have to start asking for help if he wants to keep the power on.

Tino is processing the numbers in his head as well. He's no accountant, but he doesn't need to be. It’s perfectly clear that the shelves are getting empty, and he can't afford to refill them on his own. His stomach twists. Looks like he needs to make a phone call. As friendly as he is with the Vargas brothers and La Citta, being in their debt is uncomfortable, to say the least. “We've got a lot of antiseptic, at least!” He tries to sound cheerful, sliding his hands over Bernie's shoulders and rubbing them a little.

Berwald glances back, appreciating the touch. Tino's hands are small but strong, and he seems to know just how to work out the kinks in his neck. “That's true. Need s'more bandages, though. Among other things.”

“Don't worry about it! We'll figure it out. We always do. And I'll help too, you know that.” Tino smiles, peering over Berwald’s shoulder to look at his face. They're so close now, it's unbelievable. It feels like they've finally begun to see each other. “I've always got your back, okay?”

“I know,” says Berwald. Tino has always been there, and he wishes he could do more in return. “Maybe if we-” A car pulls up outside, screeching to a halt. He stands too fast, knocking into Tino and just managing to catch him, braced against his chest. “S'not a good sound.”

Tino freezes in his arms, his eyes falling closed to allow the fantasy to continue for one sweet moment. But then he's pushing away and running for the back door, all thoughts of Berwald as anything other than the resident doctor slipping out of his mind. The moment he sees the parking lot, his heart drops. That's Matt's car. Oh fuck, not again. He doesn't freeze, doesn't let himself react. He just runs to the car and yanks the passenger side open, knowing exactly where to find Lukas. The damage is something else. “Jesus Christ, Matt!” he yells, allowing the man to help him carry a disoriented Luk inside.

“I know, just-” Mattias doesn't look up. He can't look up right now, see that look on Tino's face. He needs to get Luk taken care of, to make this alright again. He's sorry - fuck, he's so sorry - but that doesn't change anything. “He slipped, grabbed the- the thing, it…”

Berwald watches from the doorway, his jaw locked in a hard line. Mattias and Tino, with Lukas between them wearing nothing but a bloody blanket on his body. He is so, so _angry_. He needs to watch, to make sure nothing happens to Tino...but that's a lot of blood. He has to prepare to fix whatever that bastard's done now. The choice nearly breaks him, but he turns away from the door, forcing himself to trust that Tino can handle himself as well as he says.

They get Luk into the examination room, and when the blanket comes off Tino nearly gasps. Inside he’s screaming, clawing at his soul, wanting to roar and rip out Matt's eyes for the pain that he's already caused. “Fucking hell, Matt, what did you _do_?” He doesn’t mean to yell, but he can’t help it. He shuts his mouth and says no more, rushing to gather all the things they’ll need to get that wound clean and free of debris.

“I didn't...” Mattias can't get the words out in time. Tino is in the back, grabbing tweezers, antiseptic, and analgesics for the pain. He looks angry as hell, scary angry.

“ _Shut_ up,” Tino hisses, wiping away some of the blood so that he can see. Okay. Okay, it's... He'll live if they can stop the bleeding soon, if that big shard hasn’t severed anything vital. Slowly, he begins to feel around to find all the glass, see where it's embedded.

It is only as Tino begins maneuvering the glass that Lukas really feels the burn. He groans, not pulling away or curling in only because he knows all too well that it will make Tino's job harder. Still, he's cold, and naked, and it _hurts_. He needs something to hold onto. He wants his brother; he wants his boyfriend, the one he lost somewhere along the way. He's sure Mattias is still in there somewhere, underneath his demons. He reaches out, trying to find his hand. “Matt...”

Matt grasps for Luk’s hand instinctively, but he’s immediately slapped away. He finds Tino looking at him with the coldest eyes he's ever seen. “You think I did this?” he yells, in a mix of fury and guilt. “You think I fucking _did_ this?!”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Tino demands. He needs to focus on Lukas, but he can't. Not while his hands are shaking, and Matt's here, and he feels sick to his stomach with memories he doesn't want. “Go to the living room. Wait there.”

As he enters the room, Berwald grits his teeth. It's a sorry sight. This isn't what he meant when he asked for a way to get Luk out of that relationship. Tino is already yelling at Matt, ready to snap. Bernie is just about ready to do the same. How can the damned bastard say he didn't do it, when all the evidence is _right there_ in Luk’s skin?

Berwald shoves Mattias out of the way and the man stumbles back, wide-eyed and in shock. They think he did this? Okay, of _course_ they think he did this, but... Seriously? Matt steps back again, fleeing the room. The only thing he can do now is to wait for Lukas to tell them this wasn't his fault. They'll believe Luk.

Noting Tino’s shaking fingers, Bernie grabs his wrist and takes the tweezers. “Let me. Need y't'get ready with the compress.”

For just a moment Tino’s grip turns to steel, everything in his body jolting like he's expecting... what? _What_? He swallows, dropping the tweezers and pulling his hand from that grasp. The expression on his face is one Bernie never wanted to see, not directed towards him. It's having Matt here, he knows that, and it makes him snarl. But that's not helping things. He can't worry about Matt; he can only worry about what Matt's _done_.

He takes up the tweezers and puts a gentle hand on Luk's shoulder, trying to keep him with them. “Luk? Stay with us. S'ok, m'gonna fix y'. Need t'pull out the glass though, s'gonna hurt.”

_Matt's gone. Why did Matt leave him?_ He doesn't do that. He might get angry, might make mistakes, but he doesn't leave - not even when Lukas _really_ wishes he would. Bernie's voice filters through too slowly, and he turns to face him. It's only now that the real pain is starting to filter through, and he groans, face scrunching up. However, pain is one thing he's good at handling. He nods and squeezes the side of the bed. “Okay.”

Tino reaches around Lukas to brace him, making sure he doesn't jerk or twitch and cause more damage to himself. “Can you hear me?” he asks, looking into Luk's face, trying to keep him awake. “Look at me, okay?”

Lukas feels dizzy, and he doesn't think it's just from the head wound anymore. Everything's cold, and the image of Tino over him is distorted. He wants Matt. Emil - no, Emil needs to stay away. Emil needs to stay safe, and _not_ see this. He nods to Tino.

There's no other warning, no time for him to tense. “Augh!” Luk yells and arches into Tino's grip, glass sucking at his skin as it's pulled free.

Tino holds him down firmly, not letting him wriggle or get out of that grip. “ _Focus. Breathe,_ ” he demands, both frustrated and angry that he has to hide that frustration. He can't stand this. Matt can't get away with doing this again. Everything in him feels like ice and steel, so he uses that brute strength to keep the man on the table.

As soon as the big shard is free Berwald puts it in the tin and sets it aside, pressing hard on the wound with a thick compression pad. He peels up the edge to inspect the damage. There's a lot of blood, making it hard to see. However, a careful examination leads to a breath of relief. It isn’t as deep as he first thought. The bleeding is heavy, though. He presses the pad back down. “Tino, hold this. Keep pressure. M'gonna give him something t’help.”

Still shaking a little, Tino manages to pull his hands away from Luk’s shoulders and drag them down to the wound. He doesn't dare look at Luk’s face anymore; he's tired of seeing the desperation that's so fucking familiar.

Luk’s body finally eases when Bernie slips a needle into his arm. Berwald does what he can, stitching up the damage inside and out. He glances at Tino, still worried by the way that jaw is clenched. “He needs blood. We don't have any.”

“I'll call his brother. He won't be happy, but he'll donate.” Annoyed, Tino removes the compression pad to let Berwald examine the area that still needs stitches. “But I think it's more fucking important to help him stop bleeding like a pricked water balloon first, don't you?” He snaps off his gloves, grabbing his phone off the counter and heading out back. He needs some air.

Berwald flinches back, shocked by the harsh tone. He's never seen Tino so angry, _never_. It fuels his own anger and makes him hate Mattias all the more. For now, he forces his attention on Luk, finishing up the sutures and watching his vitals. If they don’t get that blood, he’s going to have a hard time coming back from this.

XXX

It was a long day at school, and yet too short all the same. Emil hates coming home more and more, except on the days when Matt has an evening shift. The sad thing is, that usually means his brother has a late shift, too. He never gets to see Lukas anymore - or rather, he never gets to see Lukas without Mattias. Just thinking about it makes him furious, and he winds up digging his nails into his palms. It's _killing_ him, seeing Luk constantly fall before the man who has come to ruin their lives. The apartment always smells of smoke, of chemicals, of sex. He hates it so much; he wishes the place would burn. Maybe then they could move away and start over.

With a deep breath, Emil climbs the last steps to their apartment and puts the key in the lock. It takes a sincere effort to turn it, part of him wishing he had gone home with Eddie again. But that's not fair to his friend, not when Eddie has his own problems. He pushes the door open.

Instantly he knows something is wrong. It's not just the silence, it's the very atmosphere. It presses close around him and makes his nerves spark with warning. He enters slowly, looking around for any signs of his brother or Mattias.

“Luk?” There's no reply. His heart jumps and he moves a little faster, searching their living room, then walking down the hall to knock on his brother's bedroom door. It's Matt's room too, but he doesn't like to think about that. “Luk I'm home. If you're in there, just yell or something.”

There isn't even an indignant shout, or a shoe tossed at the door. The bedroom is locked, but the bathroom is open and he hears the shower. Emil wrinkles his nose. Damnit, he _told_ Luk to stop fucking around with Matt in there! He has to _use_ that shower! “LUK, c'mon! You promised…”

There's no one there. The curtain is already drawn back and the water is running on its own. Emil turns it off, swallowing hard. This isn't right. He rushes back out, looking back through the living room, the kitchen-

“OH GOD!” The dishes are all over the floor, some in shattered pieces. There's blood _everywhere_ : puddled around the mess, smeared across the floor... _fuck_. Oh fuck, it's happened. Matt's finally killed him. Hands shaking, Emil pulls out his phone to dial 911. But just as his fingers hover over the buttons, his phone rings. It's Tino, the nurse his brother works with. Still shaking, he answers.

“Hey, Emi. Listen, okay? Your brother's at the clinic. We need blood.” Tino is still trying to get his breath back, trying not to pound his head into the nearest wall or go off in search of a cigarette. He hasn't had one since he got his degree. He hasn't even craved one since that summer. But right now, he needs something to take the edge off.

Emil almost drops the phone. At the clinic. That's ...that's not the morgue, or the hospital. But if Lukas needs blood, he _should_ be at the hospital! Somewhere with better resources. DAMN Mattias, trying to cover up his abuse! “I...how do I get there?”

Tino looks toward the clinic again, toward the lights inside, and his blood freezes with the thought of going back in. He can't. Not yet. “I'll pick you up,” he mutters.

Emil hangs up, carefully placing the phone back in his pocket. Then he lets himself go, and turns to slam his fist into the wall. “FUCK! GODDAMNIT, FUCK FUCK FUCK! I HATE HIM, I HATE THEM BOTH!” He pulls one of the remaining glasses off the counter and throws it across the room, letting it shatter on the floor with all the rest.

XXX

Tino holds onto his phone for another moment, steadying himself. He just needs to get his keys. He's just going to grab his _stupid_ keys, and then he'll go, and he won't have to come back. Maybe he won't. Maybe he can leave Bernie to handle this on his own, just this once. But he knows he can't; not with Lukas so bad off. He puffs out his breath and heads inside, smacking the back door open and going to grab his keys from his bag. He's still rummaging through it when he... he _feels_ Matt come into the closet behind him.

“ _What_?” Tino demands without looking, dropping his bag to the floor and reaching for something he can swing if this conversation gets out of hand.

Mattias fists his hands in his pockets, trying to remain calm. That's the only way he'll get through this conversation. “I... Can you just look at me? I want to talk to you.”

“No.” Tino says shortly, steel behind his tone. He doesn't want to look at Matt. He doesn't want him to talk. He wants to go grab Emil, he wants to save Luk. He doesn't want to deal with this bullshit.

“Please-” Matt tries taking a step closer, hoping for his attention. When Tino does finally turns that dark glare his way he freezes, swallowing hard. “This isn't... I didn't _do_ that to him.”

Tino narrows his eyes, then turns his attention back to the bag. “I don't need to hear this,” he snarls as he digs around, finally catching a glimpse of his keys and snatching them from beneath his extra scrubs. Just as he's about to make his escape he feels Matt getting closer. He holds back a gasp when he whips around and realizes the man is only inches away. He grips his keys between his fingers. “Back. Up.”

Mattias can't let him leave. They need to talk this out. Tino has to know that he didn't hurt Luk like that, that he didn't make him bleed. Slowly, he reaches out and lays a hand on Tino’s shoulder. The man is tense as a wire. “It was an accident, I swear to God. It wasn't me.”

Tino jerks out of that touch, only to realize where he is. A closet. He's backing into a closet. He holds his keys tighter. “Don't care. Let me out,” he hisses, letting his other hand reach out to grip the doorway. Oh God; he's feeling as trapped as he was back when he was the one dating Matt, so close to death or something worse that throwing himself toward it seems like a better option than waiting for it to come.

“Tin...” Matt tries again, reaching out and laying an easy hand on his cheek, dragging it down to his chin. Why is he shaking? Tino can't still be scared of him. Can he? _Is_ he? He looks like he might stab him with those keys. Yet as the seconds tick by, he doesn’t move. “You know I wouldn't hurt you. Never again. I know what I've lost.”

It takes far too long for Tino to snap out of it, and when he does he feels like he could kick himself. He grits his teeth, finally slipping out from under Matt’s touch and into the hallway. He leaves Mattias there without saying another word. He can't. He's angry - furious - but he can't waste his energy on this anymore. He heads out the back door and runs for his car, trying to get to Emil as fast as he can.

Berwald left the patient room in search of juice, something to give Lukas. He was just about ready to tell Tino to take Luk to the hospital, 'no telling' be damned if they couldn't reach his brother. But then he froze in the doorway. Tino and Matt were in the closet, and when Tino came out he was completely flushed. He looks away quickly, forcing himself to head for the kitchen even though he's ready to throw punches.

The back door slams and Mattias watches it shudder with the force, feeling that anger resonate in his chest. There is nothing quite like being smoked by your ex. He turns around, about to head back toward the waiting room when he sees the good doctor in the kitchen, his face like stone. “Shouldn't you be in there, you know, working?” he asks, unable to help the sharp, bitter edge in his voice.

Berwald growls low in his throat, not turning from the fridge. “I am cleaning up _y'r_ mess. Until I have blood t’give Luk, I’ll make ‘im drink juice. S'why Tino's going for his brother.”

Matt pales. The kid's going to pitch hell when he sees. And of course, it'll be all _his_ fault, as usual. No one fucking listens. Just because he's made some mistakes in the past... “It was a fucking accident, dipshit. I don't need to explain myself to you.”

Berwald slams the cup on the counter, glad that it's plastic. He cannot believe Mattias is trying to pull this when the evidence is so clear. He's had enough of the lies. He whirls on the man, fixing him with the full strength of his glare. His words come out low and hard. “Then why didn't y'take him t’the _hospital_?! They have more t'help him!”

“Because, like _you_ , I know exactly what those doctors think of me - and I ain't goin' down for that bogus shit again!” Matt snarls at the bastard, fists curling and lips picking up in a nasty sneer. “You're not a doctor anymore, so it's not like you've got any fucking right to judge.”

“Stop lying!” Bernie shouts, so angry his whole body is shaking. He doesn't understand this at all, how Tino could possibly _want_ to be back with this maniac. “Luk’s got bruises all over, and scrapes on his fingers! He try t'fight back? That why y'did it, or were y'too damn _high_?!”

Matt shoves his way into Berwald's face, snarling. “Sober as a fucking judge, you pretentious prick. Think whatever the fuck you want about me, whatever helps you sleep at night while you're trying to tell yourself you're not totally messed up. While you're doing that, Tino can come play naughty nurse at my house.”

Berwald comes very close to hurting the man. Too close. He swore never to hurt, only to heal. He stares Mattias down, his expression gone so cold it could frighten Ivan the Terrible. “Get. Out.”

Matt keeps sneering even though that gaze has his blood turning to ice. He does back up, however, moving to the door. He tries to think of something to say, but there’s nothing that wouldn't sound like a weak retort. He leaves silently, heading out to his car. It's best for him to leave before Emi shows up anyway; less chance of getting screamed at.


	32. Broken Dolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a conversation with Sadik, Kiku is able to find Hera's cell phone - and the messages on it that foretell Hera's death. To save Kiku from himself, Francis takes him to the clinic, where he encounters Emil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews lovely readers! Just a brief note: the dialogue between asterisks is spoken in Chinese.

Kiku blames the overwhelming loneliness for the fact that he even answered his phone once he saw who the caller was. Not that he has been left alone; he has to keep working, no matter how angry or sad he is these days. Eliza gives him plenty of sympathy, but this is a business and Kiku understands that she can’t afford to let him live at the Rainbow without taking customers. None of them can afford that, or they wouldn't be _here_ at all. Except perhaps for Francis, who claims to enjoy his work. Kiku glowers at the thought; damn Francis. No one who is happy needs to rely on drugs like that. No one who _swears_ never to touch the stuff again falls so hard. He should have known better; he's seen Francis get on and off the wagon too many times to trust him anymore. But Kiku thought that maybe this time, after everything with Gilbert and Hera and what followed, the man could actually do it. Well, he's learned his lessons about believing in others. Thus, a wiser man than before, and somewhat desperate to talk to someone he can at least trust to disappoint him, he actually answers Sadik's call.

For a moment, there is silence. Sadik thinks he can hear someone breathing, though, which might mean that Kiku's actually waiting for him to talk. Before the man can hang up, he speaks in a rush. “Kiku, I know you don't want to talk to me, and that's fine, but this is important. Hear me out just this once, even if you never talk to me again.”

Kiku just breathes for a moment, listening to the sound of desperation, clear as day, in Sadik's voice. He doesn't trust it, doesn't trust anything anymore. But it feels good to hear the voice of a friend - a real friend. Except... Except. Kiku swallows hard and closes his eyes. “I'm listening.”

Sadik spends a good minute gaping like a fish, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. It's the nicest thing Kiku has said to him in a long time, and he can barely believe it. Kiku repeats himself twice before Sadik realizes that he still hasn't replied.

“Good! Good, yeah, sorry. Um...” He takes a breath, trying to remember _any_ of the things he rehearsed saying if ever given the chance. “Okay. Now listen for a second, because you might not like this first part. The night...that night, y'know? When it all went down? I was talking to Hera for a while, before we got to arguing - like always! Nothing weird or really violent. He said he was coming to see you. Said he was afraid you would call and he'd never know, because he lost his phone. Kiku, he thought it was in your room. Knew exactly where, sly bastard - er, heaven rest 'im. Probably left it on purpose so he'd have to come back. ...you still with me?”

He's bringing up Hera. God fucking _damn_ the idiot, how _dare_ he. Kiku’s blood begins to boil as the man talks, and he starts to shake, tempted to simply hang up or start screaming. But then Sadik says something else. Something about... “His phone?” Kiku swallows hard. “He left his phone here? He said that?”

Sadik knows Kiku's angry, and there's a very good chance that he will never, ever get the chance to actually speak with him again. There's so much he wants to say. Kiku was so easy to talk to, so good at helping him work out the answers. It’s high time he returned the favor. Kiku needs him, even if he doesn't realize it. He sounds so broken that Sadik wants to ask if something new has happened. It will have to wait, though. He knows very well that if this is the last conversation they have, what Kiku needs to hear is everything he remembers from that night. “Yes. Under the bed, towards the head of it and to the left. Way too specific for that to have been an accident, eh? Kiku, I think you should look at it. There's some...some things in it. He talked about it with me. I mean, we hated each other, but it's fucking boring to stand outside a casino all night, so we talked. Just...be safe, okay? You're my friend, you’ve always been my friend. I just wanted you to know.”

The word 'friend' almost hurts to hear, especially when Kiku knows he’s been cruel to the man ever since Hera’s death. He doesn't understand this conversation. Why would Sadik tell him this? What's so important about this _now_ , when his whole world is already falling apart? “Okay.” He breathes out slowly, looking down at the floor past his messy bed. “Thank you, Sadik.”

“Yeah? You're welcome.” Then, before Kiku can hang up, Sadik adds, “Could I come see you sometime? Just to talk. We haven't talked.” It's probably too much too hope for, and certainly too much to ask. Sadik can't help but try anyway; he's hopeless. After all, he's been pining after a woman who will never love him back for more than a decade. “I mean, if you're alright. Or if you're not, and you want to talk...ah, fuck. Just, if you ever...gimme a call.”

The offer is sweet. Sad, but sweet. Part of Kiku is still utterly confused, unsure of anything or anyone. But Sadik is a good man. Every bone, every nerve, every muscle in Kiku’s body tells him so - and his muscles have had a lot of experience with not-so-good men. If Sadik murdered Hera... That's an entirely different matter. He will kill Sadik himself if he is ever certain that is the case. But right now, he needs someone. Someone he can trust, someone who would die for his trust. “I will call,” he says shortly, hoping he understands.

To Sadik those words are a balm. He will hold onto them, as he holds onto Helena's, and let them be a promise that there is hope, even for an idiot like him. “Thanks. It's good to hear your voice. Take care of yourself, 'right?”

 _Take care of yourself._ Just like Heracles used to say. The two were truly cut from the same cloth, weren't they? The thought makes Kiku’s stomach twist. “You too.” He presses his lips together, wanting to say so much more but unable to decide what. He hangs up.

Kiku drops his phone onto the bed and kneels at the left side, peeking beneath the bed skirt. There. The phone. Thin and cased in the tiger-striped cover he'd given Hera himself. Plucking it from beneath the bed, he stays on his knees and turns it on. Kiku smiles; the battery is nowhere near dead. Hera always turned off his phone the moment he arrived at the Rainbow.

The screen comes to life, alerting Kiku that there are multiple unread messages. Several of them are from Hera's brothers, a few more from friends and colleagues. A couple from the boys at La Citta that make his blood boil, but nothing incriminating. He scrolls through Hera’s inbox, looking for clues, then pauses on a number that doesn’t have a contact name. His heart seizes; he knows that number. He knows it far too well. He opens the message file and begins to scroll through the whole conversation, almost terrified of what he might find.

_\--If I have reached Heracles Karpusi, my men have done their job properly. Am I correct in assuming that they have?--_

_\--who is this?--_

_\--Someone you should know if you want to marry a whore.--_

_\--Someone with a death wish, then. Sadik next time i see you, you’re going to lose an eye.--_

_\--This is not that foolish thug. Though if pulling the man's eye out will entice you to stay away from my brother, I will gladly see to it myself.--_

_\--Ah. Good. Ive been wondering how to reach you. I wanted to tell you to stay the fuck away from Kiku.--_

_\--Well, you have told me. Not that it will do much good. I, however, would like to warn you: my brother is mine. He belongs to me. He is on loan to the Rainbow, and he is stealing time with you- for which he will be punished. Do not touch him again.--_

_\--Now youve told me, so here is my answer: No. Kiku does not belong to anyone. Not to me and certainly not to you. You have no right to touch him, you have no right to hurt him, and if you ever try to take him again i swear i will kill you.--_

_\--Then I suppose I will have to kill you first.--_

Kiku stops at those words, his eyes widening and his body going completely rigid as he stares at them. Oh God. Yao. _Y_ ao threatened his life, _Yao_ was trying to keep him because... Did that say 'marry'? Kiku grips the phone like it's the only thing holding him to earth and scrolls up again. Oh God. Oh _GOD_. He starts shaking, feeling sick, wishing he could just die but too angry to go without taking Yao with him. He lets out a sound; it’s not exactly a scream, but something loud and so full of rage that it echoes through the whole hotel.

Throwing himself to his feet, Kiku grips the phone tighter and starts digging through his drawers for his items of protection - knives, guns, anything. They're not there, except for the mace. Liza must have taken them, afraid he would use them against himself. He slams the drawer shut and throws himself into the hallway, heading for the kitchen. There are knives in the kitchen.

Ever since Artie's disastrous visit, Francis has been miserable. He doesn't remember much of what happened after Kiku walked out; only that Arthur hauled him back to bed, promising to make it better. Already high and already a traitor to his promises, Francis had decided a little more wouldn't hurt. But since waking up the next morning with a violent headache and feeling sick with regret, he's been clean. Except for the regular cigarettes. Except for the way his hands shake and his skin itches, desperate for another hit. Who is he kidding? He can never beat these addictions. Every time he tries, _every time_ , something ends up dragging him back.

Francis laughs at his own little pity party, stubbing out a cigarette butt and heading back inside his room. His laughter is drowned by a sudden shriek that sends chills through his blood. Before his brain even registers the voice, his gun is in his hand and he's running. It is mere luck that Kiku runs into _him_ in the hallway. “Kiku!” he shouts, catching the man before he falls over. “What happened, where are they?”

“DON'T TOUCH ME!” Kiku is screaming, screaming at the top of his lungs, making the whole place jolt and shudder. He slams his hands into Francis' shoulders, pushing hard enough to knock him down, and runs down the stairs with that phone clutched to his chest. It's all he has left. It's all he has at all.

The gun goes skittering away when Francis falls and he has to scramble after it; that kind of thing can't be left lying around. As soon as it's tucked back into his belt he's hurtling after his friend. Kiku is not usually a violent person, but sometimes he talks about death as an honor, as an almost logical course of action. He doesn't shake his head at the ones who don't last, who kill themselves rather than live like this. It has always frightened Francis, and never more than now.

In the kitchen the knives protrude from their holder, in plain view. Liza should be more careful. Anyone who wants to hurt someone could find them. Kiku snatches one and heads for the door, but Francis grabs hold of his arm, yanking him back and holding tight so that his arms are trapped. “Kiku, NO! Stop this, let it go! LIZA! ELIZA, HELP!”

“ _*LET ME GO!*_ ” Kiku screams in Chinese, desperately struggling to get out of that grip. He can't - he _can't_! - let Francis stop him. He has to get to his brother; he has to slit his throat and watch him bleed and spit on his face as the light leaves his eyes. He has to do this for Hera. “*LET ME GO! I'VE GOT TO KILL HIM!*”

Francis has never seen Kiku lose it like this. Not even when they told him that Hera was dead - though that came close. This must be about Hera; he can't imagine anything else. He shudders to think what Kiku might have discovered to make him so upset. He hopes someone has not tried to lay the blame at the poor man's feet! “Kiku, stop it! I can't understand you! Just drop the knife, please!”

Kiku shrieks, his legs lifting off the ground to _jam_ his heels into Francis' feet. “*STOP IT! STOP IT! LET ME GO!*” He can't drop the knife, he can't let anyone take this from him. He needs to find Yao and make him _pay_ , the murderous son of a bitch.

Elizabeta comes hurtling down the steps from the second floor rooms, Sesel and Gupta just steps behind her. When she sees Francis struggling with Kiku, the knife flashing in Kiku’s hand, it boggles her mind. She knows they've quarreled, but this? In her hotel? “WHAT are you DOING?”

“HELP ME! He's going to hurt himself!” Francis shouts.

“Oh!” Sesel exclaims. Her hand jolts out, jamming Kiku's palm upward and throwing the knife from his fingers. The man is delirious, screaming in Chinese and crying his eyes out as he tries desperately to get out of Francis' grip and catch the knife. There's something in his other hand. She reaches for that as well, but the man nearly kicks her. “What is wrong with him?!” she cries out, backing up.

Gupta takes hold of Kiku’s legs, trying to get him to stop kicking. “We need to calm him,” he says, looking to Francis.

Francis considers telling Sesel to find a sedative. He's not the Rainbow's only addict, so someone around here must have something. But if they make a mistake with the dosage it will only make things worse – and Kiku would never forgive him for forcing him to take something. “The doctor, we take him to the doctor!” he decides.

Eliza grabs her keys, throwing on a sweater to cover her bra. They need to get Kiku somewhere fast, or there's going to be a lot of scared, angry customers. “My car - now!”

She's already out the door, holding it open for Francis and Gupta as they get Kiku to the car and wrestle him into the backseat. She will drive them to the clinic, but she won't go in. She’ll have to come back and perform some damage control.

XXX

Something has been off with Tino since he returned with Emil. Bernie has a feeling he knows what it is, but he doesn’t want to ask for fear that it will only lead to a confrontation. They work together in silence, Tino helping to transfuse the blood and Bernie watching him critically, searching for any sign that he may welcome a friend.

They’ve barely stabilized Lukas when the doors burst open again and the sound of agony bounces off the walls. One look at Kiku tells Tino that he's far from physically hurt. He looks like he could kill every person in this room if Francis wasn’t holding him back. Carefully, Tino reaches out to extricate him from Francis' arms. “Kiku, it's Tino - _Tino_! Do you hear me?”

Kiku pushes at the two of them, trying to escape, trying to _run_. He can't be here. He can't be near Francis anymore, or anyone else. Just Yao. He needs to get away, get to Yao, make him pay for _everything_. “ _PLEASE_!” He's calmed just enough to yell in English now. “Please, just let me GO!”

As if Luk getting _stabbed_ wasn't enough for one day. Berwald takes a breath and starts looking through his supply of medicine. They are very low, but there has to be something to at least take the edge off for Kiku. If he keeps struggling like that, someone is going to get hurt.

Tino holds Kiku's arm as Francis holds the other, dragging him into the second examining room as Bernie prepares a needle with a sedative. They're down to about a dozen of those. Tino _really_ needs to call Feliciano. “It's okay- It's _OKAY_!” He holds Kiku’s arm steady so that Bernie can inject him, then slowly lowers him to the bed. Something slips from the man's fingers, crashing to the floor. He ignores it for the moment. “It's okay, Kiku, please...”

Things are going dark. No. They can't... Kiku fights drunkenly against them, clawing at his consciousness, but he can't reach it. His eyes are closing, and he shudders with chill before he's limp on the bed, utterly terrified of the sleep he's in.

Tino lets him fall forward, checking his vitals and his skin just to be sure there's nothing physically wrong. Nothing. Okay. So this is definitely a problem that needs more patience. “We'll try to get him to talk to us when he comes to. For now, I'll test for drugs.”

“He wouldn’t; he hates them,” says Francis, shaking his head. “We fought, and he won't even _speak_ to me because he caught me using.” Francis is nearly in tears himself to see his friend so broken. It makes him afraid to release his grip on Kiku’s hand or leave his side. There's a grief so strong about him that Francis nearly chokes on it. He is afraid to know what caused it. How is he supposed to help when he can't deal with his own problems?

“If you haven't spoken to him, then you don't know, do you?” Tino glares at Francis, in no mood to deal with whores tonight - particularly ones that flirt with Berwald every time they see him. “Go wait, or go home.”

Francis glares right back, keeping his hold on Kiku's arm. “I will not leave. He needs - he needs _someone_ , and I owe it to him. He was there for me.” Then again, Kiku hasn’t wanted him around lately. He needs to put his gun in the safe anyway; the last thing he needs is to be banned from the clinic. He will still be here for Kiku when he's awake. “Fine.”

Tino watches him go, scowling at his back until Francis is out of the room. _Prick_. Bending down, he scoops up the object Kiku dropped: a cellphone. He sets it on the counter. “Let's turn him over,” he says to Bernie. It’s almost an order, which is far from his usual tone.

Berwald blinks, shocked by Tino's attitude. The nurse is rarely short with patients or their friends, and when he does snap at them it is because they've done something particularly heinous or they're getting in the way. Francis hasn't done anything that he knows of. After everything that's happened today, he supposes he can understand. Still, Francis is one of the few regular patients who actually _pays_ , and they can't afford to alienate him. “Tino...”

“What?” Tino asks softly, not really listening. He wants to handle this and go home, Berwald and his clinic be damned. He gets Kiku onto his back and begins a quick vitals sweep, gritting his teeth as he feels Bernie watching him so closely. Finally, he drops his hands and turns to face him. “If you don't trust me to handle this, then tell me to go home.”

Berwald reels back as though he's been slapped. It makes him think of what he saw earlier: Tino and Matt, in the closet, looking so close... what if he's actually planning on getting back together with that bastard, while Luk is lying in the next room? That would destroy him. It might destroy them all.

His hands almost shake as he looks Kiku over. He can't speak, can't offer an answer to Tino at all. There is no apparent physical damage, no signs of drug use. This seems mental. Bernie’s no good with mental injuries - _clearly_. He needs Tino to come back to himself and tell him what to do.

XXX

Francis locks his gun away carefully. It's one of the greatest things Gilbert gave to him. He remembers the words that went with it: _"Jesus, Frannie, don't look at it like it's poison. Here, I'm gonna show you how to shoot and all. I'm AWESOME at it, there's no one better. Anyway, getting tired of saving your pretty ass, time you had a real man's weapon and took care of it yourself."_ Which, translated from Gilbert to human, meant "I care about you." Francis still doesn't like guns, however. Not when he remembers what they were to his father: a means to solve problems. That sends a shiver through him, and he turns away.

Francis starts, suddenly realizing that he is not alone. There's a boy sitting at the dining table, clearly forced into drinking the Good Doctor’s apple juice and eating some cookies. He looks very pale, and scared out of his mind. Francis feels much the same. “Hello there,” he says, taking a seat nearby. “I hope we haven't frightened you. My friend is...not well.”

Emil has been watching everything, intent on locking himself in with Lukas as soon as Bernie will let him. Matt's not even _here_ , the fucking coward. He puts down the juice; his hands are shaking and he doesn't need this stranger to notice. “No. I'm not afraid - not anymore.”

Francis cannot help the touch of pity he feels, but it is a pity mixed with understanding. He, of all people, knows what it is like to be young and pretending to be braver than you are. “Alright. Have you been here before? Dr. Oxenstierna is very good.”

Emil almost scoffs. Has he been here before? Only a thousand times or more. His jaw sets and he turns away from the man, not wanting to see his pity. People with pretty faces pity everyone else, because pretty faces get them by. “Yes,” he says softly.

“Ah.” A repeat customer, then. There's more than a few of those, but this boy doesn't seem to fit any of the usual descriptions. Francis knows almost all of the whores in town, and this boy flinches so obviously from any sort of touch that he's quite sure he would fail in that business. He doesn't have the hard look of a fighter, either, or a dealer. Perhaps a junkie; his eyes are far away, but he puts that to distraction. “My name's Francis.”

Francis. Emil has heard that name, he thinks, from somewhere. Someone. He doesn't really care who he is, he just wishes the man would stop looking at him like he's some wounded puppy. “Emil,” he replies, hoping that will be enough. He takes another gulp of that oversweet juice and sucks the remains from his lower lip.

There's a bandaid on the inside of the boy's elbow. Drawn blood - the juice makes more sense. Francis wonders if the boy is sick or if it is someone else. “You know, Emil, I am here for my friend. I don't know quite what to say to him - I am sure you saw. He's hurting, and I don't know how to help him.”

Emil’s jaw hardens. Fuck if he's dealing with this bullshit tonight. Does this asshole know how many times people approach him every day, trying to score off his brother and get ‘mate's rates?’ “If you want drugs, go talk to the fucking monster himself. I'm nobody's middleman.”

Now it is Francis’ turn to flinch back; the boy hitting far too close to home. A dealer's son, then, or sibling. He wonders if the boy is related to Holly at all, but Holly's only got that pretty sister, Bella. “No. My friend would be very angry with me if I tried to offer _that_ solution. It was my own, you see, and it did me very little good. They make you like a different person.”

Emil swallows and looks down, trying not to get even angrier. That's always the excuse, isn't it? _"I was high,"_ or _"it was the drugs."_ Fuck that. His brother was close to death tonight because of that bastard. “Don't even start with that bullshit. Drugs are a habit, but you're still the same asshole you always were. Just mindless, too.”

Francis stares at the boy, who is repeating all the things he used to say when he lived with a monster of his own. Hadn't he sworn back then he would _never_ become his father? “Sometimes you want to be mindless. Sometimes there's nothing left for you but forgetting. It hurts so much, and then there's just this little pill that makes the world go rosy, and...”

He cuts himself off. Why is he defending this? Francis has become the thing he always hated. This boy is wiser than he is. “No, you’re right. It doesn't work like that. It just makes things worse when you wake up on the other side.” He swallows hard. “Hey Emil, whatever is going on....don't become the monster. Don't let it eat you. You're a smart boy, non? Use that.”

“It's already eating me,” Emil whispers.

Before Francis can respond, Tino enters, his notepad in hand. Tino found himself back outside moments ago, craving a cigarette for the second time in as many hours. Clearly, he needs to calm down. Breathe. And... apologize. “Luk's going to be fine; you can see him as soon as you finish that snack. And …Matt tried to call earlier. I thought you should know.” He turns to Francis, half-annoyed and half-guilty. “May I speak with you privately?”

Francis nods carefully, never quite sure what he's done to upset the little nurse. Other than flirt with the Good Doctor; but really, _everyone_ knows Berwald is about as interested in Francis as a rock. He spares another glance for the boy, then follows Tino to the kitchen.

Tino feels bad about everything. The way he's acted tonight has not been some of his best bedside manner. However, he wants to make it better - he needs to. They need Francis in their corner, as a friend and a paying patient. He's the only one besides Elizabeta who pays for every bi-monthly blood test he takes. “First of all, I wanted to apologize.” His gaze slides up to meet Francis’ eyes, then falls to the ground. “I'm not myself tonight. And you, despite all of your charms, are not my favorite patient.” Pressing his lips together, Tino looks up again. “I'm sorry.”

Francis almost laughs. “Thank you for your most...direct manner. You do not have to deal with me, you know. Just leave me for your delightful doctor.” Tino goes pink, and he puts up his hands. “I tease, I am sorry. I will do my best to stop when it comes to the two of you.”

Tino turns a little pinker, smiling slightly. He supposes it's never been a secret that he wants Berwald. He just never expected it to be such public knowledge. “In any case, he's waking up a little. Kiku, that is.” Smiling slightly, he offers Francis a little paper cup of water. “If you want to be there, you may.”

The smile Francis returns is sad but sincere. “I would.” He takes the cup and then pauses, glancing back at Emil. He wonders if there is still time, still hope. He lowers his voice. “Why is he here, if I may?”

Tino’s expression falters, and he looks toward Emil with no little pity. “His brother is hurt. Again.” He drags his eyes to Francis', trying to make him understand. “That's all I’m at liberty to say.”

Francis doesn't need anything more. That _is_ too close to home, and looking back at Emil brings up memories that should be buried much deeper at this point. “I would...I wish I could...” He shakes his head. Tino surely understands as well; he remembers hearing about what happened to the nurse before they’d ever actually met. It was the first time he fell back into the drugs, trying so hard _not_ to think about it. “If he is ever in trouble, send him my way. I don't mean the way I went, I mean...I would like to believe that he will end up more like you, and less like me.”

Tino shakes his head slowly, at a loss. Such words from this man are unwarranted and disconcerting in their sincerity. After a moment, he reaches up to touch his arm. “Everyone handles things in their own way. I do not handle them well by any stretch.” Smiling a little, he adds, “If they are ever in trouble, I'll call you myself.”

“You too,” says Francis. “If you ever...well, there are some things even our doctor cannot understand. I am not a good patient for you, but perhaps you can be one of mine.” His laugh is teasing, but the offer is sincere. He waves to Emil as he passes and heads for Kiku's room.


	33. The Price of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis and Kiku finally reveal the truth of their pasts - including the origins of Francis' scar, how Yao came to inherit a drug empire, and the evidence mounting against him for Heracles' murder. In the next room, Emil confronts Lukas about his volatile relationship with Mattias.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Sorry for the wait, and thank you for all the favs/kudos/reviews!
> 
>  **MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING** for this chapter: Heavy mentions of child abuse, domestic abuse, rape, murder, and drugs. Nothing is explicitly shown, but if any of those things bother you skip the chapter or skim it.

The ceiling is different from the brightly painted, mirrored, or plated ceilings of the Rainbow. He is somewhere else entirely, isn’t he? At this point, Kiku isn’t even sure whether it is day or night. All he knows is the headache pounding in his brain and the sticky sagging of his eyes. He was crying. And now he's confused. And his arm hurts like a fucking bitch.

Francis walks in slowly. The lights are dimmed, and he wants to keep the atmosphere peaceful. “Kiku?” he calls quietly, keeping his distance just in case the man decides Francis is the last person he wants to see. “How do you feel?”

Kiku turns his head slowly at the sound of his name, and when he sees Francis his stomach twists. It's not just Francis - it's the look on his face. Worried and scared in the same breath. “I don't know,” he says softly, clearing his throat when he realizes how scratchy it is. Well, that answers that. He's definitely been pitching a fit. He grits his teeth. “Where am I?”

“The clinic. You were not yourself.” Francis steps forward, offering him the water. Kiku looks awful, and Francis still isn't sure just what set him off to begin with. Perhaps, in truth, it's been a long time coming. Kiku has always been so reserved; eventually, something was bound to give.

Kiku doesn't take the water. Even if he wanted it, he's too tired to lift his hand. _Not himself._ Right. Francis has always had a gift for understatement when warranted. He closes his eyes, trying to think back. He remembers freaking out, yelling, taking the knife. He remembers going through his drawers, looking for a gun. He's... Slowly getting his wits back. “Why are you still here?” He asks it almost spitefully, still angry with Francis. “Still sober?”

Francis takes that in stride. He deserves it, after all. “Yes. I am here because you are my friend, and you need me. If you would like me to wait in the kitchen, I will.”

Part of Kiku does. Part of him just wants everyone to go away and leave him alone. At the same time, he needs someone, no matter who it might be. Francis _has_ been kind, bringing him here instead of leaving him to his own devices. “Stay,” he says softly, hoping he doesn't sound desperate. He shouldn't _be_ desperate. The man hurt him.

“As long as you need me,” Francis replies. He takes a seat in the chair by the bed and sets the cup on a table. Then he waits, letting Kiku decide what to talk about. If he wants to talk at all, that is. Francis does not want to push him.

Kiku looks to his left, blinking slowly at the phone on the counter. For a long moment he just stares at it, until his thoughts come back together. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, focusing his gaze on Francis.

The man shakes his head. “No, no. I am...well, I am back to myself. However, I fear that I have hurt you.” He meets Kiku’s eyes, trying to hold their focus.

For a long, tense moment, Kiku watches him. Then he turns his head away. “No more than anyone else has,” he whispers, thinking about his discoveries. The phone. The text messages... He should be screaming again, but he feels limp and weak and Francis is right here, trying to apologize for something few men can control. “You and the monkey on your back are something I should've grown used to.”

Francis’ heart twists. “My troubles are my own, and you should not have to carry them. I'm not making any more promises, but I know that I handle things badly sometimes. Therefore I know how to spot someone who is not coping well.”

Kiku swallows hard, sliding to sit up. His body feels drugged, lethargic. “Did you knock me out?” he asks, more to change the subject than anything else. He doesn't want to think about his problems. He wants to solve them. Perhaps not as barbarically as he just attempted, but... Poison is a whore's best friend. Especially when one is dealing with a dope fiend.

Francis snorts. “I came close. But no, our Good Doctor gave you a sedative. I was afraid for you. I thought you might hurt yourself, or someone else. I would say violence only breeds violence, but I am also quite aware that rolling over and taking it is a poor option.”

Kiku grits his teeth, rubbing his temples and trying to will his headache away. “No one hurt me tonight, Francis. Just...” He doesn't want to involve him, doesn't want to make him worry. “An aftershock of my personal earthquake.”

“Aftershocks can last for years.” Francis sighs. Kiku is not one to talk about his personal life, or ask about anyone else's. It is part of the reason they get along so well. Right now, however, they need to stop dancing around things. “Perhaps it is time we stopped speaking in metaphors, oui?”

“Perhaps.” Smiling wryly, Kiku slowly shifts toward the edge of the bed, offering Francis room to recline beside him. If they must talk, they will talk like this. He turns to his side, laying on his better arm and peering toward him as a good friend might. His guard is still up, but it won't hold against Francis. Damn the man, he knows better than anyone how to turn him into a real person again.

Francis climbs in, staying on top of the covers. "No sex" is another of the clinic's strict rules, and he would rather not have a misunderstanding. Then Kiku kicks out from under the covers and slides up onto the pillow a little further, making Francis smile. He's glad he is at least allowed to be close to Kiku again, especially since this discussion is sure to be difficult for them both. “You know my first earthquake was my mother. I told you she died when I was young. I do not believe I told you how.”

“You haven't,” Kiku mummers. He takes the man in, looking for signs of his habit. Nothing. Nothing but cigarette smoke, which clings to Francis like sweat these days. His eyes are not bloodshot, his hands are not jittery. He is far from high. “What happened?”

Francis takes Kiku's hand, long fingers stoking gently over the back of it. “Now please promise me cheri, no pity. I am telling you because I trust you, and I hope that you might understand some things better this way. I want to help you.”

Kiku lets Francis take his hand, but no more. His fingers are limp. He's refusing to be moved by those sweet words or soft touches. The man is a master manipulator. He has learned many things, after all. “If you want to help me, you may try. But I cannot promise I won't pity you as you pity me.” He meets Francis’ eyes. “Say what you want to say. I am tired of feeling alone.”

Perhaps, Francis thinks, that is exactly what they need: pure, simple, honesty. He nods, and begins. “She died protecting me from my father. He was a cruel man at the best of times, and merciless at his worst. He hated me; it was never a secret. Whenever he lost control, whether through some drug or drink or just because he was in a temper, he beat the shit out of me - out of both of us. I tried, God, I tried to keep him off of her. I was weak; I failed. One night he tried to strangle me, and I think I must have passed out. But I remember her screaming, standing over me, even though everything was blurry, and I swear, I _swear_ it was him with his hands on her neck. By the time I was awake again, she was gone.”

Kiku’s hand slides out to touch his side, letting him know that he's there. He doesn't remember ever feeling so genuine around Francis. The man works hard to make every move, every look, every touch a fantasy pulled straight from the depths of a sordid part of your soul. But this Francis is real. “I'm sorry.”

Francis swallows around the tight lump in his throat. It's been so long, it feels like all of that was a dream. The distance doesn’t make it easy, exactly, but it helps him to continue. “They said she hung herself. Who was going to believe a traumatized child? She went into the ground, and I went home with _him_. Love doesn’t conquer all; when someone gives their life to protect you, there are still monsters. You just have to face them alone.”

“I did what I could to make it stop hurting, and I became what I’d hated for so long. If I couldn’t fight back, than I wanted to make my father as miserable as I was. His image was _so_ important to him, and even though he hated me he needed me to play the part of the perfect son. Instead I smoked and I drank, and I learned how to suck cock to get what I wanted. I wasn't nearly so pretty then, you know, so I had to be _good_.” He flashes a smile and grips Kiku’s hand a little tighter. If he doesn’t make fun of the past it will eat him alive. “It is a shame to learn things like that from your family, isn't it?”

Kiku reaches out to touch Francis’ cheek, unable to merely watch as the man is ripped open by his own memories. “I can't imagine you not being beautiful.” The words are not pity, nor are they flattery. They are the truth.

Francis’ eyes flutter closed, and he takes a long, heavy breath before opening them again. He turns his head to lay a gentle kiss on Kiku's fingers. “So. Now you know where I come from. Will you tell me what brought you here?”

Kiku swallows hard, his expression of careful calm slowly crumbling. He doesn't know where to begin. It seems wrong to simply start with tonight. “I... Yao... When our father first brought us here, it was under the guise of giving Yao and Mai, his sister, the means to a proper education. But father had other plans. He was hiding assets here, and his wife had recently discovered that their marriage had become... crowded.” He smiles bitterly, remembering the time when he began to understand what he was; the awkward dinners where he and his mother served the Wang family, then ate in the kitchen when they'd all gone to bed. “He feared Mrs. Wang would divorce him, and he wanted to make use of his assets. But she never did. She had too much pride.”

He chews on his lower lip, trying to think of how to say this without coloring it. He doesn't want this to be a rant. This is his life. He needs to make Francis understand, not simply feel his anger. “Yao and I were friends, once. We took care of each other. Mr. Wang was not a doting parent, and Mrs. Wang made him look almost warm. He wanted an heir, not a son. He groomed Yao for that perfectly, but... Yao was always different. Different from everyone. He used to make it his business to know everything, and to tell me everything. He knew when his parents were fighting, when Mr. Wang was with my mother. One night he dragged me from bed to listen to them fuck. When we were older, he came to my room and took me. It was nice that time. But the next morning, father knew. He took Yao into his office and told him that I belonged to him until he died - and that when he died I would belong to his heir. So Yao worked hard, he learned the business, and the day after his mother passed away, he shot Mr. Wang in the back of the head.”

The color drains from Francis’ face. _That_ he did not know. As with so many deaths in this city, it was covered up, confused with so many different suspects that no one was quite sure what happened in the end. “Mon Dieu.”

Kiku shakes his head, folding himself into Francis' arms and letting the feeling of the man ground his nerves. He is starting to feel this ancient pang in the center of his heart; the kind that shouldn't be there, and certainly shouldn't be so painful. “I became Yao’s. And when I left, it was because he let me; because I _begged_ him to let me have a life outside the manor. For a moment it was like we understood each other again. But I'm still his. I'll never escape him; he's made that perfectly clear.”

Francis pets Kiku's hair and holds him close. He's glad he's the taller one, so that Kiku cannot see the tears in his eyes. “No, my darling. No. You are not _his_ ; there is always a way out. I am here to prove that is so.” He pulls back and brings Kiku's hand to his neck. There is a thick scar there, a flaw in the otherwise smooth line of his skin. “That is what I paid for freedom. When I was sixteen, he tried to kill me. _Really_ kill me. He wrapped a wire around my throat, and I would have been dead if the bastard didn't enjoy taking his damn sweet time. Someone came knocking, and I ran. I doubt he even bothered to look.”

“I'm very glad you ran. I'm glad one of us is free,” Kiku whispers, stroking the long scar almost lovingly. He had not known its origin before, and he doubts Francis has shared it with anyone else. Breathing in cigarette smoke and the man's airy cologne, he whispers the newest Wang family secret against his shirt, tears falling even as he says it. “I paid a dear price for imagining freedom, Francis.”

“Freedom is not free, Kiku. One must pay the way, through sex, through blood, through pain, through loss - somehow, there is a price. That is the great tragedy of the world,” says Francis. He can feel Kiku nearly shaking against him, so he leans down to whisper against his ear. “Your freedom is real, if you would only see it that way. But tell me what has happened. I do not like to see you like this; it frightens me.”

Kiku chokes on the words, almost as if he's afraid saying them might make them true. “Yao did it,” he whispers, his hand sliding down to grip Francis' shoulder, begging him not to recoil. “Yao killed Hera.”

Francis stiffens, feeling his heart plummet to his stomach. It takes him a moment to decide just what to say, to school his reaction. He understands what the knife was for now. “You...how do you know? Did he say something?”

“Hera's phone. He left it in my room. There's a text.”

“Gilbert too?” Francis swallows, hating how his voice cracks.

“I don't know,” says Kiku. He tips his head back to meet Francis’ eyes, scared. He knows Yao's game well enough to know that he wouldn't mind getting rid of two or three enemies in one night. And Yao is tidy enough to get away with it, too. “I don't know, Frannie. Maybe.”

They're both shaking now, angry and frightened. Yao is powerful, there is no denying that. It would have been an easy task for him to off Heracles. Gilbert would be harder, but not impossible, and that old gentleman was long past his prime. Guns aren’t Yao's game, but Yao is smart enough to know that would throw suspicion elsewhere. This isn't something Francis knows how to fix; this isn't something they can deal with alone. “You need to tell the police.”

“Don't you think they know about the fucking text?” Kiku sucks in a breath through his clenched teeth, chilled to the bone with the knowledge. “They have Hera's phone records by now. They have the text. They haven't done a damn thing, Francis, and they won't. I need to take care of it myself.”

“NO. If you go to your brother now, he will keep you or kill you. I won't let that happen.” Francis fists the back of Kiku's shirt, determined to keep him right here even if he has to hold the man down. “If you go after him, I will follow you. If he comes for you, I will stand in your door. I have had _enough_ of this.”

The hands on Kiku’s back are warm and hard, and they hold him in place with a strength that only someone who truly cares could provide. “Thank you,” he whispers, closing his eyes again. “But I need to see him pay.”

“We will. Someday.” Francis kisses the top of his head. There's so little they can do, but they can certainly turn the tide against Yao. They hear a lot of things, and it is easy enough to manipulate a man's opinions when he's desperate for just a taste of you. “We'll make him a few new enemies - get Liza to ban him from the Rainbow. At the very least, he’ll have to find somewhere else to shove his ugly cock.”

Kiku grits his teeth, shaking his head against Francis’ chest. Turning his brother away won't stop anything. It will only make Yao angry, and that will lead to more deaths than he wants to think about. For the moment he simply holds onto Francis, considering his options. Without Hera there are few, and none hold much appeal. But they are there, and so is Francis.

XXX

The body in that bed is so much thinner, so much sicker, than it was a year ago. Before all this began. Before the devil wormed his way into their lives. Emil grips the arms of his chair, waiting for his brother to wake, willing him to, so that he can cut the bullshit this time and get him to tell him the truth. He made a promise to himself that this would end months ago. Now Lukas is here, hurt bad again. And when he gets up, everything will be the same.

He sees his brother's arms twitch beneath the covers. Good. If nothing else, he's awake. “Hey,” he says softly, just in case. Luk is probably suffering from a major headache. He sits up straighter, leaning his elbows on the arms of the chair and watching his brother try to move. His voice goes slightly terse. “Don't you dare try to get up. You're at the clinic.”

The words filter sluggishly through Luk’s ears; the world is hazy, and waking comes slow. There is pain in his head and more at his middle, but he is used to it. He can handle it. He needs to get up, to make breakfast so that Emil can go to school. Then he'll get ready for the day and wait for Matt to wake. Someday, Matt will sweep him into his arms like he did in the beginning and they'll dance around the kitchen.

Or was that only this morning? Lukas blinks, letting himself ease back into the memory of a far more violent tango. It's still cloudy, filled with shouts and breaking glass, Matt's voice, so...worried. However, it is not Matt's voice beside him now. His eyes widen as he turns to see his brother. “Emi!”

Emil raises his eyebrows, giving him a look that is generally little brother for _‘Good job, dumbass.’_ “Uh-huh. Glad to see you too. You look better when you're among the conscious.”

Emil isn't supposed to be here. Tino _knows_ not to call him, it only makes him upset! Then Emil will yell, or disappear for days at a time until Lukas is nearly sick with worry for him. He's terrified that one of these days Emil will get into it with Matt, and one of them will end up seriously hurt. If Matt ever hurt his brother, that would be it. No one touches Emil.

Luk takes stock of himself, trying to decide how bad this looks. His head hurts, but it doesn't feel swollen; it's always better when his face is intact. He's wearing one of the hospital gowns Bernie's collected. Ah, that's right. He was naked when he got here. “Did you bring my clothes?”

“Yeah.” Emil’s reply is very low and very soft, letting Luk know exactly how much he cares about his goddamned clothes at a time like this. “I brought those jeans with the rip in the left knee - you know, the distressed ones - and the t-shirt you got at that boy band concert in the nineties, which you just started wearing again because it fits. And, oh yeah, some blood. To make sure you fucking _woke up_ this time!” He can't help pounding his fist into the arm of his chair, sliding forward, so angry that he's not even sure what he's saying anymore. “How many more times am I going to have to do this before you fucking _leave_ his sorry ass?”

“You-” Blood? How much did he lose for them to call his brother? He looks so angry, too. Well, Emil's always angry anymore. Lukas supposes it's partially his age and partially the situation. They're just scraping by, but he's been putting everything he can aside to make sure Emi can go away to school when he graduates. He wants him, at least, to get out of this shit hole. “You don't understand.”

“I don't understand?!” Emil’s voice rises, but he clamps it back down. He throws himself out of the chair and paces toward the other side of the room. “I watch this shit _every day_ , Luk. Every day! And you think I don't get it, but I do. I see the way he has you fucking _mind-controlled._ It makes me sick. But what's worse is seeing you in this hospital bed, making excuses for him, telling me I just "don't get it." You're so crazy for him you're willing to let him throw you around like a rag-doll, then lie to me about it later.”

Lukas sits up with a hand bracing his stomach, his glare daring Emil to push him back down. “It's not a lie. The floor was wet, and I slipped. It happens. I'm a fucking EMT, I see accidents every day. Matt's the one who got me here. If he wanted to hurt me he could have left me to bleed out on the floor!”

“Oh, _yeah_ , that's how there was _glass_ in your stomach and a bruise on your head. Yeah, that's what an accident looks like to me.” It's all sarcasm now, bleeding from Emil’s every pore. He hates this, _hates_ it, and he can't pretend anymore. “Do you realize I know _exactly_ what's going on? All my friends, _everyone_ at school, knows that my brother is Helpless Bitchboy Number Two, just waiting to be strung up in the basement of some abandoned crack house. Do you really want to die so badly?!”

Lukas feels like he's been slapped. Emil isn't usually so open about his feelings, limiting his anger to glares and snide comments. He's not used to this open resentment, and he's not quite sure how to take it, so he winds up snapping in return. “You have no idea what you're talking about. You...you have NO idea what we do for you! If I turned my back on him I’d lose my job – both of them! Matt’s my contact with the Wangs, and he could tell my boss at the hospital _everything_. He’d tell them about…” Luk bites down on his lip. “Without him, we can't afford _shit_. We'd be on the street and you wouldn't _have_ any friends to worry about. Matt’s got a mean streak, he drinks and he shoots himself up, but most of the money we make comes because HE knows where to sell!”

“So fucking _WHAT_?” Emil hears his voice elevate again, and drops it. He can't yell at his brother, not like this. Not now. He falls back into the chair and grips the arms hard. “I'll get a job. We'll get another place. We'll go somewhere else; I don't care where, I don't _care_ what I have to do. I'm not going to let him touch you again, I'm _not_.”

“I can handle him,” Luk growls. He can feel this burst of energy draining, making it harder to come up with a decent argument. “He can touch me. Matt's my boyfriend, he's just....he's lost, just like everyone else. He's the one who doesn't know how to handle th **i** ngs.” His gaze shoots from his aching stomach to his brother. “Mattias didn't do this, Emi. He wouldn't.”

Something in Emil just drains away. He slides to his feet, feeling angry and sick, and turns his back on his brother. “Why not? He has before,” he snaps, and walks out the door.


	34. Tragedy in Slow Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toris tries to keep his boyfriend's hopes up as Feliks' condition deteriorates.

It has been so hard to appear normal since the night he took his first trip to the clinic, with the man called Holly bleeding all over the backseat of his car. Toris finds himself shaking at odd moments, unable to look at the backseat, though Ivan took his car the next morning and got it cleaned - without asking, of course. The only time he feels remotely like the man he used to be is when he’s with Feliks. The good thing is he is able to see his boyfriend more often now, to come during the actual visiting hours and stay the night. He can also afford to bring decent meals that his lover never eats. Tonight it’s Chinese food; he’s hoping Feliks will be able to keep down some lo mein.

For Feliks, this week has totally and completely sucked. He feels like shit, he's in pain, and there's nothing good on television. He feels like his life is a complete waste. There are half-finished fashion designs in the sketch book next to his bed, alongside a notebook filled with a few crap poems, a lot of pony doodles, and vague musings. A shirt he was embroidering for Toris sits at the bottom of the bed, but it will never look right; even when he manages to thread the needle it hurts to work on it for too long. None of it is worth much. _He_ hasn't been worth much since the stables and the track closed down. It's not like there's anyplace else in town that has horses for him to take care of.

The worst of it is, despite the usual glow of happiness that comes whenever his boyfriend visits, today he doesn't want to see Toris at all. Or rather, he doesn't want Toris to see _him_. When he hears the door open he rolls on his side and draws the covers over his head.

Toris slips fully into the room, half-wondering if Feliks is napping, and sets the food down on a dresser that belongs to Feliks' comatose roommate. “Baby?” he calls, smiling when he sees his shoulder twitch beneath the covers. He heads over and slides into bed beside him, reaching for his body beneath the blanket with a cheerful smile on his face.

Feliks curls further into himself, covering his head with his arms. “Please don't, Tori.” God, his voice is already breaking. Totally unfair; now Toris will never let it be.

Toris flinches at the crack in his voice, the way Feliks tries to struggle away from him. He swallows hard and slides away a little. “What's wrong?” he asks softly, pulling at the covers.

Feliks immediately grabs hold of the sheets and tugs them back around his body. “ _Don't_. I just...don't look, okay? I'm like, a serious nightmare today.” He laughs a little, trying to make it sound easier. Toris has always called him a princess, teased him for being a beauty queen. He's not pretty anymore. His eyes are sunken in, his skin is gross, and now...now...he bites his lip to keep from crying.

The way he's acting isn’t right. Toris’ eyes shoot to the edge of his covers where he can see his lover's hands shake, and... there. Feliks’ hairbrush is on the nightstand, with clumps of lovely blonde hair caught in the bristles. Swallowing hard, he takes hold of the covers and crawls beneath them, peering through the darkness to see. Feliks whips around with a pained look on his face. Toris tries to smile, and manages, because it's Feliks. Who still looks beautiful, half-bald and skinny as he is. “It's - Baby, you should've just told me.”

Feliks shakes his head, trying to back away without falling out of the bed. “No way! I look awful! I mean it was getting all thin, but now it's just coming out like _that_.” He sits up, throwing the covers off and pointing to his pillow. The white linen is covered in long blonde strands, looking no more substantial than a spider's web. He's not bald, not yet, but there are noticeable patches now and what remains is so thin he can see his scalp through it. It's a harsh blow for one who has always been pretty - vain, admittedly, but why wouldn't he be when he looked damn good in a suit or a skirt? Now he just looks like a corpse. His lip trembles, and _dammit_ he's crying again. “I'm sorry. It's so stupid, I know it's just hair, but it's _my_ hair. You always said you liked it, and now I don't know why anyone would want to be seen with me at all.”

“Hey.” Toris cuts him off, reaching out to trail his fingers up to Feliks’ shoulder and slide closer. He can't stand the way this is hurting him; really hurting him, worse than any part of this nightmare has so far. Feliks looks like he might crumble under Toris’ fingers. “Don't say that. You can't. You're the most beautiful thing in the world, and it doesn't have anything to do with your hair.” Carefully pulling him into his arms, Toris hugs him close and whispers in his ear. “You looked good with it, yeah, but it always got in your eyes. I love your eyes. And I love your smile. I love every part of you there is. Losing your hair doesn't hurt that.”

Feliks can't help cuddling up to him, taking advantage of his warmth. Unfortunately, he can't help crying either. All of Toris' platitudes are nice, but they don't change a thing. “It's _ugly_ and I _hate_ it! It's completely unfair! This isn't even the disease. It's the medicine! I've always had long hair Tori, you know that. Now it's as good as gone. It's just...it's NOT FAIR!”

“No. It's not,” Toris admits. He pulls him closer and kisses the top of his head where there is a white bald patch. It's hard to look at, but once he does, he doesn't really mind the sight. “But you'll get by. We'll get by, I promise. You're not going to lose me.” He tucks his lips into the side of Feliks’ throat. “We'll make lemonade out of this, you'll see.”

“How do we make _anything_ out of this? I can't do anything, Tori. Now I can't even do my hair!” Feliks wipes at his eyes and frowns at the wet patch on Toris' shirt. The fact that he can feel those lips on his head doesn't help things, but at least his boyfriend isn't utterly repulsed.

“Well...” Toris tries to think. Wigs? Fuck no. Feliks would slit his throat before anyone even mentioned Lady Gaga. Wait... “Hats. Remember that year-long stretch in high school when you wore a different hat every day? You should shop for some.” There is nothing Feliks loves more than shopping, and thanks to Ivan, that might actually be possible. “Anything you want. We can afford it.”

Feliks perks up just a little at the mention of shopping, but remains unconvinced. He knows Braginski is loaded, but there's no way he's paying Toris that much to work the bar and do his laundry or whatever. Not with the medical bills. “How exactly can we afford anything? I am just a sink hole for cash these days, and you...I mean, no one pays an assistant _that_ much.”

Toris raises his eyebrows at Feliks, trying not to tense up. “Ivan does.” He laces their fingers together. “Besides, he's paying the rent now too. He had me move into the apartment above the bar, next door to his kids. He wants me to keep an eye on them.” And Ivan wants to keep an eye on _him_. The thought makes his stomach twist. “Wanna check my bank account? It's pretty much amazing.”

Feliks blinks, a little taken aback. They've never been particularly well-off, even when they were both working. Plus, if Toris is living above the bar... “Our apartment?”

“I moved everything there.” Toris tries to smile, and finds he can't; not really. The whole situation is very strange. He knows how it must sound, but it's not like that. Ivan just wants him to watch out for Raivis' antics, and make sure Eddie doesn’t work himself sick. That's all. He squeezes Feliks’ hand. “I mean, there's a month left on the lease, but... It just makes things easier. It's not a bad place, Feli. You should see it.”

Feliks can feel the tears coming again. They saved for _ages_ to get that apartment. They lived there for years, through all their best times and all their stupid fights. They redid it at least once a year, and Feliks painted murals on the walls. The apartment was _theirs_. It was like his hair - it mattered because it had been around for so long, because it had grown with them. Now, even if - _when_ he gets out of here, he won't see that home again. What can he say? Toris is paying for everything, and he's just dead weight. He doesn't even have the looks to be a trophy boyfriend anymore. “O-oh.”

Toris knew he shouldn't have said anything. God, sometimes he's so stupid. He hugs Feliks against his chest, and buries his face in his shoulder, whispering against his throat, “It wasn't home without you there. I couldn't...” His throat is swelling closed and his eyes are growing hot, but Toris can't cry now. He needs to make this okay. “Every time I looked around I just got lonelier. I never stay there anymore. I don't want to be anywhere you're not, understand? Besides, this means there's a whole new place for you to redecorate when you get out of here.”

Feliks can't think of anything to say. A huge part of him wants to scream at Toris because he did not even _ask_ for his opinion. On the other hand, he can't yell at Toris. Toris is the only thing he has left now that is anywhere near familiar and normal. He loves the man, and trusts him, and if he thought leaving their apartment was the best thing to do, it probably was. Maybe that is where all the money is coming from. Yet money, for all the good it does him, cannot buy comfort. Feliks sniffs, tears still running over his face, and turns to breathe in Toris' skin. “I don't feel good.”

Toris pulls him closer, wishing Feliks would just _scream_ at him and get it over with. He knows it was wrong to accept the offer; he knows it was wrong to go along with Ivan's wishes. But he wants to be able to do things for his boyfriend. Still, Feliks isn’t happy. Paying his bills isn't going to change that. He needs to find other ways to make him feel better. “I'm sorry,” Toris whispers, reaching up to wipe away his boyfriend’s tears. “Please, just tell me I did the wrong thing and I'll move back. I'll take everything back. If that's what you want, I'll put it all back tomorrow.”

Feliks shakes his head. What he wants, Toris cannot give him. He wants to be better - completely better, free of every disease. He wants to go home and sleep in their own bed for about a week, and then to make love to Toris for another. He wants to eat without feeling sick, to work, to not smell like hospital, to be pretty again. Toris can't do any of that that, and Feliks will not ask for too many miracles. That Toris is here with him, that they're not out on the streets due to all the bills, those are the things he needs to remember and be grateful for. “I want you with me. If...” he takes a breath to quell the shaking. “If this is what it takes, then fine. We can always get another apartment, yeah?”

 _'But that one was ours.'_ Toris can almost hear it. He can hear the bitterness in his voice, hear that Feliks is so unhappy, but there's nothing he can do about it except play his cards and hope to win. He presses his face into that soft skin and sinks into him. “We will,” he promises. This is one, at least, that he'll be able to keep if he continues squirrelling cash away, saying his prayers, and biding his time. He has enough saved now to support Feliks for a few months if the boss decides to get rid of him the nasty way. Maybe he can arrange something with Tino at the clinic in case things go that route. It's a stretch. But maybe, if things get tight... “I know we will. We'll find something better.”

“Totally.” There's not enough conviction to the word, but it's all Feliks can manage. This whole day has exhausted him. He shifts into a more comfortable position, resting his head on the pillow but wrapping his arms around Toris. “I'm gonna nap for a while, okay?”

“Go ahead. I'm here.” Toris kisses his forehead, letting Feliks curl into his body. Those weak, skinny arms make him swallow. It's odd to see the man he once gained all of his strength from looking so frail. He doesn't like thinking about it. He just breathes him in, curling into him as well and holding on tight.


	35. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mattie makes use of his time with Holly, and the lines between informant and (more than) friend are crossed. When Alfred catches them, their friendship is stretched to the breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments! We love hearing from you.

The time Holly has spent recovering from Ivan’s interrogation has been one of the best weeks of his life. He’s been hanging out in bed, watching movies with the cutest boy he's ever met. Enjoying pizza and Chinese food and telling stories to someone who actually listens. Making out. Fooling around but taking it slow, afraid that his injuries will cause too much pain and still a little afraid to trust one another. It’s like they’ve been courting. Holly has never felt wanted like this before; cared for, cared _about_. Mattie is actually interested in his life, always asking about his world, his work. It’s been a long time since he felt this comfortable talking with anyone; he can’t even talk to his sister Bella now, with Ivan running the bar.

They’re cuddled on Mattie’s couch, halfway through the new _Star Trek_ movie, when Holly’s phone starts blinking. He snatches it up from the coffee table, stealing a handful of the maple walnut caramel corn that seems to be Mattie's flavor of choice when it comes to movie snacks. “Oh, holy _fucking_ shit,” he mutters to himself once he sees the text, biting into his lower lip to hold back laughter. If Kaoru’s not trying to prank him, work's going to get a lot more interesting. That is, if he ever decides to leave the comforts of Matthew’s apartment.

Mattie is briefly worried when he hears the man curse, but there's a spark in Holly's eyes that suggests something particularly entertaining has come up. He swipes some caramel corn right out of his fingers. “What's up?”

Holly watches him pop the caramel corn in his mouth and leans in after it. “Give that back,” he growls pleasantly, his other hand dragging down Mattie’s side. If his boss gets to have some fun with the guy who _put_ Holly in the clinic, Holly has the right to fool around himself.

Matthew sticks out his tongue, popcorn still on it, then pulls it back into his mouth. He cannot believe how much fun he's been having with this near-stranger. It makes him forget about all the shit that's been going down around them, about the fact that they are months into this case and they _still_ don't know who pulled off the triple homicide. Holly is an excellent informant, but somewhere in the past week the lines between _work_ and _personal_ got crossed. He asks questions because he wants to know what makes Holly smile.

Holly catches Mattie's head, sliding his fingers into that sandy blonde hair and dragging him in for a kiss that slides through an action sequence full of noise and bright colors. He pulls away, his eyes falling half-lidded as he sticks his tongue out, displaying the caramel corn. “You are no match for my sweet tooth.”

Laughing, Mattie takes his own handful of popcorn from the bag. It feels like he and Holly are actually dating or something. However, neither of them have said as much. To his knowledge, Holly hasn't left the house all week. The man is only now regaining full mobility. “So...?”

Holly grins, pulling his phone into view again. “Looks like my boss is off the All China Doll Diet. He's been fucking Braginski, that arms dealer.” He passes the phone to Mattie and leans in to kiss his neck. “Which means that if I slack off to fool around with you, I'm just following the example of my fearless leader. Fearless being the operative word.” He shudders.

A smaller shiver runs through Mattie as well. He ignores the kisses for the moment and stares at the phone. Ivan the Terrible and the Dragon.... _together_? That's big news. If they really unified, they could take on La Citta. That would mean death to anyone who got in the way, and one hell of a headache for the police. Vosh won't be pleased if this ends one gang war only to start another. On the other hand, there’s a chance it has something to do with the Beilshmidt/Karpusi case. “How did that even happen? I thought they were about to slit each other's throats.”

Holly shrugs, reaching over to grab a swig of his beer. Thank God he arrived flush with all the pain meds he could ever need. Two joints a day and he's fine, no nasty complications. “Yeah, so did I. But, I mean, Kaoru was screwing around with the dude's kid. He'd know. I guess they came to an agreement, or...” He finds himself smirking. “Well. Yao can be pretty damn convincing when he needs to be.”

Mattie is fairly certain that Ivan can be convincing too, judging from all the vague texts he gets from Alfred. The texts do not make much sense; they’re full of code words he doesn’t understand, and it almost sounds like Alfred _trusts_ Ivan. On the other hand, that’s Alfred for you. He trusts everyone. Mattie really misses him; they've been working their own angles lately, and God knows what Arthur is up to. Their team is only together when they meet with Vosh.

He turns his attention back to Holly. “I've heard of Mr. Wang. He seems very...private. He doesn't get involved as much as the others do, from what I’ve heard.”

Holly snorts, reaching over to steal more caramel corn. “Oh, he's involved alright. But he doesn't exactly run things the usual way. He likes to get _them_ to come to _him_. Even had Gilbert Beilschmidt hooked on uppers, along with half his friends.” He squares his jaw, thinking on the night he told Yao they'd found Gil dead, along with Hans and his own stepbrother's lover. _'Oh, good,'_ was all he said before he returned to his game of mahjong. As if it didn’t matter at all. “Yao’s a shark, and he doesn't mix business with pleasure. If he and Ivan made a deal, the fucking had to be a bonus prize.”

Mattie stores the information away, trying to catalogue it alongside what he already knows. A week with Holly has been more productive than all the time he spent pretending to be a junkie and living in that creepy, vacant apartment. Except, Holly still thinks he's a junkie. A minor one, not a real addict, but...he swallows. For some reason, he feels bad for lying to him. Especially with all the kissing. And the more than kissing.

“I wonder if Yao’s still screwing his brother...” Holly muses, a little shocked when Mattie practically jolts at that. He thought everyone knew. He shrugs it off, sliding back on the pillows and smiling up at him. “I bet the Russian bastard would totally be all over that.”

Matthew _has_ heard of that. It’s just never talked about at the station. Not outside crude jokes or very formal meetings on cases in which Mr. Wang played a central part; granted there are more than a few of those. He clenches his fists. “Someday we'll get all the bastards who play while other people suffer.” He doesn't realize he said it out loud until Holly responds.

“Jesus, you sound like Batman or something,” Holly snorts, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

“Hey!” Mattie ducks out of reach, putting his hair back in order. It's useless. He's always got one curl that sticks out from the rest, even if he tries to cut it.

Laughing, Holly lets his hand slide down to the back of Mattie’s neck and strokes the skin. Mattie tenses, like he always does when the touches turn more-than-friendly. However, there's a glint in his eyes that says he doesn't mind. “You look really good like this,” says Holly. He reaches up with his other hand and drags it slowly through Mattie’s hair, twisting that curly strand around his finger.

“Like what? It's no different than usual.” Mattie blushes. Most people don't talk about his looks. Most people don't really see him at all, but Holly says things like that all the time.

Holly grins, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together. He lets their lips mesh together, natural as breathing, and pulls back just a second later. “You look better every time I kiss you.”

Never in a million years would Matthew have thought that a drug dealer would turn out to be the one to make his heart skip, but, here he is. “Maybe you need glasses.” He takes his own glasses off and puts them on Holly's face. It's too bad he can't see; he bets Holly looks good in them.

Holly shakes his head slowly, sliding the glasses off and gently returning them to Mattie’s face. His fingers linger as he kisses him again, slower this time, drinking in his taste and dragging that touch down the back of his shirt. The fabric is covering hot, gorgeous skin that he's only seen twice, on the momentous occasions Mattie allowed their kissing to extend a little past kissing.

Mattie can't help himself; Holly is as addicting as the drugs he sells. It's clear he's feeling better too; the bruises across his skin have turned ugly colors, but they just make Holly look sexier. He traces the lines of muscle under Holly’s shirt, trying to avoid the bruises and bandages he's memorized. The swelling is all gone, and the pain appears manageable. A strange feeling of regret runs through Mattie when he realizes that Holly no longer has a reason to stay with him. He kisses back harder.

Holly pulls him into his lap, his hands moving lower than they should. He wants to prove that he's ready for this, that he can take a little bruising if he can have this man. “Mattie...” he whispers, dragging him closer as he pulls up the hem of his shirt. By the time it's off Holly’s lost focus and found skin. He tastes his jaw and his throat, dragging his teeth over Mattie’s pulse. _God_ does it feel good to hear his breath kick like that.

He sighs against Mattie’s skin, lips sucking and sliding over his collarbone, then lower. “Let me...” Holly can't finish the request. His lips press into the tight skin around Mattie’s nipple, then open as they reach it. He licks it first, and then sucks it into his mouth.

“Ah!” Heat fills Mattie’s stomach, making everything feel wonderfully tense. Holly's upper chest is largely clear of abrasions; it seems like Ivan wanted to avoid accidentally bursting his heart or collapsing a lung. The thought makes him a little rougher with the touch than he means to be.

Mattie's fingers _twist_ , and for a second Holly has to freeze because it makes everything in him arch and tighten like a very pleasant electric shock. “Mattie!” The name comes out a little rougher, a little louder, and his hands slope down Mattie’s back to the seat of his pants.

For a moment Mattie is afraid that he actually hurt Holly. But when he tries to pull away he's drawn in tighter, hands going lower than they have before. He finds himself tugging off Holly's shirt and kissing him soundly.

Holly looks up at him, holding up his arms so that his shirt can be thrown away. “Give me everything you want to,” he whispers roughly, his hands falling down to pull at Matthew’s belt. “I want it.” Leaning back in, he sucks on that pert, tight nipple, and yanks the belt open to shove a rough hand into his pants.

Mattie gasps, running his hands over Holly's back. This is what has been building for days now - longer. He felt the chemistry between them the moment he met Holly at the café. And...well, it really _has_ been a while since he was with someone like this. His eager body shuts out the part of his brain that is telling him how bad of an idea this is. He lets himself surrender to Holly’s touch. “Yes!”

XXX

Alfred has met with Vosh like four times in the past few weeks, and the chief still hasn't gotten the hint. Ivan needs help in the field; more agents, more people to have his back. But Vosh just promised to send over another set of eyes. Exasperated, Alfred decided to talk to Mattie. Mattie knows the ins and outs of undercover work better than anyone else at their level on the force. Plus, he hasn't seen his best friend in ages. It’s pretty much criminal.

He lets himself into Mattie's apartment, humming to himself as he notices all the pizza boxes by the trash, and a couple t-shirts on the couch. It’s rare for Mattie to be so messy; he must be working on something major. He'll be in his room then, on the laptop.

“Hey, Mattie, I kinda need-” Alfred chokes, gaping at the sight of Mattie - _his_ Mattie - in bed with a dude. Something in him twists and breaks, and whatever it is feels vital. “ _MATTIE_!”

Holly freezes, staring back at the man who is standing in the doorway like some guard. He looks weirdly similar to Matthew; for a second he thinks they're brothers. However, the look in that guy's eyes is definitely not brotherly. Oh. _OH_. Slowly, he removes his hand from Mattie's pants and slides out from under him. This is the part where he turns into a ghost. He was never here. Swallowing hard, he pushes off the bed, ignoring the way Mattie's looking at him. He doesn't even want to see his face.

It's only when the man gets up that Alfred realizes who it is: Holly Nethers. Dealer extraordinaire, living in Yao's pocket these days. The one who’s supposed to know everyone and their habits. Alfred’s heart lurches. “A _dealer_ , Mattie? For fuck's sake, what is _wrong_ with you?!”

Mattie jerks up. Alfred never thinks to knock, never thinks that Matthew might have his own things to attend to! He never should have given him the spare key. He doesn’t understand why _Alfred_ is the one looking angry, when he and Holly...dammit, Holly's leaving! “Holly, wait!”

Mattie reaches for him, but Holly shrugs him off. If he feels Mattie’s touch again, he’ll lose it. He tries to ignore the desperation on the man’s face, telling himself that he shouldn't believe anything he sees. If Mattie’s hiding a boy, he could be hiding anything. He _knew_ no one could be that innocent. “See you around,” he says faintly, not really meaning it. Then he pushes past the other guy, gritting his teeth as he grabs his shit and leaves as fast as he can.

Completely lost, Matthew turns to Alfred again. His sadness and confusion meld together, and he winds up lashing out at the closest target. “What the hell, Alf?! I told you to start knocking!”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I completely forgot that rule! Is it the one where I leave you to go hook up with _drug-slinging pot-heads_ so that you can get your nuts off on the job?” Alfred snaps.

Deciding this conversation would go better with more clothes, Mattie buttons his pants and tugs on a new shirt. “While I leave you to get friendly with Ivan the Terrible? He's a _murderer_! Holly may be a dealer, but at least he's a good person!”

“Oh, right, _Holly Fucking Nethers_ is a good person. Do you even know the kind of shit he's into?” Alfred waves his arm toward the door, refusing to look away from his friend. This is too much. “He works for that Dragon sonova bitch, he sells drugs to anybody, he's gotten people _killed_ by their habits, and nobody's sure how many of those deaths were unintentional. Don’t you understand? He's a fucking snake!”

Of course Mattie knows that. Of course those facts have haunted him, made him second guess every move he's made around Holly, everything he feels for him. But none of them _change_ it. He's never fallen so hard in his life – at least, not for someone who actually returns his affection. Backed into a corner, he shouts, “You don't know a thing about Holly! I'm the one who's been...tailing him. It was for work, I wanted to get his information, and then…that just now...that hasn't happened before!”

“Then where the _fuck_ have you been all week, Mattie? Here, with _him_?!” Alfred yells. He's not sure he's ever let himself get this angry. “Don't try to tell me this hasn't been going on! You brought him to _your_ apartment, Mattie. He knows where you live!”

“He was hurt, by _Ivan_! He got the shit beaten out of him, even you must have seen the bruises! Where was I supposed to take him? He needed someone, and he's my best lead! It wasn't like I was going to take him to our hideout in...you know.” Matthew lowers his voice, suddenly realizing that they're screaming about highly confidential information that could get them both killed.

Alfred throws up his hands and turns his back on his oldest friend, unable to look at him anymore. “Fine! Deal with your damn lead! I'm washing my hands of it.” He storms out, slamming the door and crossing the hall to his own apartment, where he locks himself in with the deadbolt.

Mattie falls back on his bed, head in his hands. Everything’s ruined now, and it's his fault. He never should have gotten work confused with his heart, and now...now he doesn't have anything at all. He'll have to start all over.


	36. Love and Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vosh reviews the case that has been keeping him up at night, including some new information that changes his theory. His morality is tested by the discovery of Roderick's personal life and the presence of the man himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your comments! We adore hearing from you, and we're happy you enjoy reading the story as much as we've enjoyed writing it!
> 
> **NOTE** for this chapter: If you've been skipping/skimming some chapters, we recommend reading this one. Vosh basically summarizes what is known so far about the murders.

It’s midnight, and Vosh is still in his office. Honestly he should just move into the station; it’s not the first time he’s spent the night, and he is quite certain it won’t be the last. The triple homicide case in particular has given him a lot of sleepless nights. He has other things he needs to work on; papers to sign, schedules to fill out, evidence to examine. But this one haunts him. The more he looks into it, the deeper he is drawn into the underbelly of the city. Maybe if he can solve this case he’ll have the information he needs to take down all the major players and clean up this city for good.

At the very least, he might get a full night’s rest. Or have a phone conversation with his sister during which she doesn’t threaten to force him on a vacation.

He takes a sip from his coffee cup, grimacing at the taste of the dregs, and stares at the two boards he has dedicated to this case. They’re covered with pictures and documents, with colored lines and notes connecting the pieces. It looks like a web – no, not a web. A web makes sense. This is more like a tangle.

He stares hard at his newest note, based on Matthew William’s last report. (Vosh makes a mental note to check on the kid next time he comes in to the station. He sounded strained on the phone, and he does not need his only good officers falling apart.) Yao Wang and Ivan Braginski – together. Not just allies, but _lovers_. It seems preposterous; he’d been preparing for the two to go to war.

This changes things, and Vosh isn’t sure if it’s good news or bad. Could it have anything to do with this homicide, or any of the other cases? Alfred has been sending him many strange messages regarding Braginski that have encouraged him to look further into the arms dealer as a suspect. Perhaps he’s been looking at it all wrong. Instead of Braginski _or_ Wang, the answer is Braginski _and_ Wang.

The evidence has been mounting against Yao lately. Heracles Karpusi’s phone records revealed clear threats, though Yao claimed he never acted on them. Then there’s the Diazepam they found in Gilbert Bielschmidt’s system: a sedative, when, according to Holly Nethers (via Matthew), Gilbert preferred uppers. The drug lord certainly could have found a way to slip them to Gilbert, and then sent Ivan in for the kill…

Still, there are missing pieces. The tox screens for Heracles and Hans were clean, and Gilbert could have simply decided to try something different – especially considering what else they found in his system. The man was HIV positive, and taking other medications that are consistent with the treatment of the virus. Ludwig could even prove he had prescriptions for them from a licensed practitioner. It wouldn’t be such a stretch for Gilbert to add something else to the mix and keep silent about it.

Vosh turns his stare to Gilbert Beilschmidt’s picture, those red eyes smirking back at him. He cannot bring himself to feel sorry that the man is dead. It is not the dead that haunt his sleepless nights; it is their secrets. He needs to know if there are more, and who was willing to kill to keep those secrets hidden.

Flinging the empty coffee cup into the trash, Vosh paces back to his desk and traces his fingers over the one file he has yet to open. Roderick Edelstein: the pianist, the part-time prostitute, the Beilschmidt’s cousin. He doesn’t know what to do with him. He discovered quickly over their one cup of coffee that the man is as clever as he is complicated. Roderick only gave Vosh the bare minimum of information, and at the time he decided not to push it. It had been late, after all, and it was a highly irregular interview. He’d told himself he would do his research, then contact Roderick again with prepared questions.

Even so, his hand remains tensed over the file, uneasy. Roderick is not a suspect - not for this murder, anyway. There are a hundred witnesses who can place him at the piano in La Citta's main room when the gun went off. However, it is well known that Roderick had a complicated relationship with his cousins, especially Gilbert. Vosh could tell that underneath his perfect mask, Roderick was truly shaken by Gilbert’s death. The information contained within this folder might prove any number of rumors. Some said Roderick played a part in the Beilschmidt’s rise to power, when he was younger and Hans was partnered with Roma Vargas. Supposedly he fell out of favor after the incident that left Lovino with just nine fingers and Feliciano briefly institutionalized. Will the file reveal the truth of the matter? Vosh forces himself to flip it open.

The file is decidedly undetailed on the major points of Roderick’s past. There are mentions of serious involvement with the Beilschmidts and the Vargases, but no new information. It seems that his fall from power is true enough; there is a blank space where Roderick left the city, right after the Vargas kidnapping. But the thing that catches Vosh's attention is not his family history, or even the paragraphs detailing the man's career as a prostitute and…gentleman. Instead it is the simplest thing, right there on his summary sheet. Marital Status: Legally Married. Spouse: Elizabeta Hedervary Edelstein.

“ _What_?” Vosh chokes. No matter how many times he reads them over, the words do not change. Roderick is _married_ to Eliza. Perhaps he should not be so surprised. He knew the pair were business partners, co-owners of the Rainbow Hotel and Spa. They sell rooms that just so happen to be occupied; a clever cover for a brothel when the police force has no time to prosecute them. But he never thought the pair were actually… He has to sit down, lest his legs fail him. These are public records, so the marriage has never been a secret. Apparently, it is simply not discussed.

Not one of the little pieces of paper in that file mention anything about a romantic entanglement between the two. It looks like a marriage of convenience, particularly when one takes into account the many long-term relationships Roderick’s had with men, and the various relationships Liza has kept up with all sexes. Still. A marriage is a marriage.

For a long time Vosh stares at the file, flipping through the pages of Roderick’s life. He still has a thousand other things to do, yet all he wants is to call Roderick and ask him to explain himself. It's utterly irrational. They had coffee once, as part of an informal investigation! Why is it he cannot get the man off of his mind?

Just then, there is a knock at the door. That lady who works the night shift at the front desk (he really should learn her name) says there's someone to see him. That's never good news, unless it's his sister. He hopes for the later, but it is _definitely_ not Lili who walks in. Instead it is a tall, handsome gentleman with sleek dark hair and blue, blue eyes. Roderick Edelstein. He slams the file shut and pushes it under some of his other papers. “Good evening Mr. Edelstein. Can I help you?”

Roderick had no gigs tonight, so there was nothing to do at La Citta. Nothing to do at the Rainbow either; it’s a Tuesday night, and Liza told him it was slow. To be perfectly honest, he didn’t feel like doing anything besides sitting across from a pair of very green eyes and sipping coffee. In the end he decided to throw caution to the wind and visit the station. Give, just a little, seeing as their first meeting did not entice Vosh enough to earn a phone call. He’d expected to leave a note for him, and was pleasantly surprised when the receptionist told him the chief was still in his office.

During the walk to the office he promised himself that he would be composed and pulled-together when he saw Vosh again. He arrives with his hands clasped in front of him and his eyes firmly focused straight ahead. Yet when their eyes meet, Roderick lets out a soft breath. He wasn't prepared to feel so out of control. “Chief Inspector.” He bows his head.

At the sound of his voice Vosh’s pulse starts pounding. He waves away the administrator and gestures to the chair in front of his desk. They sit in silence for a moment, regarding one another. He can't stand it - which is strange, given that silence is what he prays for on a daily basis. “Well then,” he finally says. “Was there something you needed? Did you remember something to help with the case?”

Had he? Roderick can’t remember. He knows he had some excuse, some reason to come see him. “I did.” He smiles almost bitterly, ashamed of the way his body and mind have reacted to this man. “But it seems I have forgotten it again.”

“Well.” Perhaps this is a sign of fate, bringing Roderick to the station right when Vosh wants to talk to him. Except Vosh does not believe in fate. Still, since the man is here... “That's fine. I have a question for you.” He watches Roderick’s face carefully. “About your wife.”

Roderick raises his eyebrows. Ah. So it has come to that. “You've been looking in to me?” he asks, drawing one leg over the other. The redness in Vosh’s cheeks says that he has, as does the spark of frustration in his eyes.

“It is my job to look into those involved in my cases.” Even though his face betrays him, Vosh’s voice remains clinical. He takes out a pen and paper, at least making the attempt to look official. “You've been married for how many years now?”

Twisting his hands together in his lap, Roderick squeezes them tight and answers as though they're talking about the weather. “Ten years.” Ten years since they opened the Rainbow. Twelve years since they met, and decided if they couldn’t beat the game, they’d change the rules.

_Ten years?_ And no one bothered to tell Vosh? Then again, why would they? He wouldn’t have a reason to care about this marriage at all if the couple were not so involved in crime. He swallows his expression and takes his time making notes, watching the ink instead of Roderick. “You live separately now? I believe your current address is with your cousin at La Citta Fortunata, while your wife is living in her, well, _your_ hotel.” At least that is a legitimate question. It gives him a better idea of their connections, and what they might know regarding the triple homicide.

“Unofficially separated, yes.” Roderick says it without venom, without any emotion at all, really. He doesn't need to worry about what this man thinks. Obviously, Vosh has no trouble putting _him_ firmly in the category of ‘person of interest.’ No more, no less. “I don't see what that has to do with your investigation.”

Vosh stumbles a little, even though he just had an answer for that. It takes him a moment to remember. “If you were with your wife the night of the murders - that is, the one involving your late cousin - then it would change your perspective on things. That is quite relevant. As is the fact that Gilbert had...relations, with your wife.” He doesn't know why he's putting this delicately. The whole damn city knows Gilbert got around, and although Francis was his first choice, Elizabeta was his favorite girl. Yet there's something about Roderick that makes Vosh feel like he has to speak to him with every courtesy.

Roderick uncrosses his legs and sits back in the chair as though he is relaxed - though he's starting to wonder if he'll ever completely unwind around this man. “As I explained to you, I was at La Citta that night. Performing.” A twisted little smile turns the tips of his lips upward. “My wife and I have an open marriage, Chief Zwingli, and I can assure you I was _well_ aware of my cousin's affection for her. I've witnessed it myself.”

Vosh coughs. “Personally I do not see the point in an open relationship. You are either with someone, or you aren't.” He shuts his mouth with an audible snap. _Damn it_. His opinions are never supposed to be a part of this. “Apologies. It's very late, and I should not have spoken like that. I'm not here to judge your lifestyle.” He almost smiles. “Unless you're going to tell me that you killed your cousin. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Roderick is careful now, breathing in slowly and breathing out slower, examining the man from beneath his lashes. It's a question he cannot answer without lying, so instead he opts for a more cordial approach. “We all make mistakes. Apology accepted.” Rising to his feet, he offers Vosh an opinion of his own. “Personally, I would like things to be that simple. If being ‘with’ someone could prevent me from wanting anyone else, then I would be a happy man.”

“Perhaps you have not been with the right person. But, that is not the point,” says Vosh, although he cannot remember what the point is supposed to be. The sad thing is, he’s happy to hear that Roderick is not in love with his wife, or at least that he is open to other options. He shakes his head; the Chief of Police should not be thinking that way.

Roderick offers him a smile that is thin and clearly made of pretense. He does not want to think of Liza or any of the others who have not been the _right_ person. It just makes his heart hurt, and his head. “My apologies. This conversation has been a useless one.”

“Not at all. You are a person of some intelligence, and I find I enjoy talking with you,” Vosh says honestly. He deals with fools and wicked men on a daily basis. It's nice to speak with someone who does not appear to be either. “Besides, you have answered a few questions I had regarding your recent interview. I must admit I am surprised by how willing you are to talk. Most would be afraid - and rightly so.”

Roderick’s smile turns real, playful, and he finds himself breaking every boundary so clearly marked by papers and files to reach over the desk and touch that sweet red cheek. “I don't know who would fear a private conversation with you, but then there's no accounting for taste.”

This flusters Vosh, because it makes his gut twist in ways that it shouldn't. He pulls back and turns away, glad that the room is dim enough to hide some of his blush. “Your cousin will not harm you, then?” He can't quite keep the worry out of his voice - worry that is far more potent than it should be for a mere contact. “I can offer some form of protection.”

Roderick is saddened by the way Vosh withdraws, but not surprised. He lets his hand fall away and turns a little, trying to bring himself back to reason. “If I asked for protection, would you come protect me yourself?” he asks, bitter with the knowledge that it cannot be. Vosh is far too important to spare on guard duty for someone who does not need protecting.

“I wish I could personally protect every single person in this city, to know that I had done everything within my power to keep them safe.” It's the balanced answer. The truth, without revealing how very much he _does_ want to protect Roderick himself. Wife and all. “But I can't. I can only send out my people, and hope that they take their jobs as seriously as I do. I am aware that many of them do not. However, I try to put them on assignments where they can do little damage.” Vosh sighs, kneading at his temples. His head hurts a little just thinking of all the corruption on his force. “I would send ones I trusted with my own life to protect you.”

As his smile returns, Roderick shakes his head. Honestly, he needs nothing from this man. He only wants it. “I understand, but I can assure you I need no protecting.” He moves away, half chastising himself for being so forward when Vosh refuses to reciprocate. An uninterested man is an uninterested man. So be it. “I am not under any threat.”

Vosh worries still. He doesn't know many people in this town who are not threatened. However, it seems to him that Roderick is not all that involved in the schemes of La Citta and the other gangs. He isn't even loyal to his own business (and wife) at the Rainbow. He is simply a man who likes the finer things - something Vosh will never understand when money is so tight - and one who keeps his distance. That, Vosh can respect. He nods, smoothing out his shirt. “Well. If you ever feel the need...just ask for me.”

Laughing, Roderick turns his back on the chief as he speaks. “There are plenty of things I _need_ , Zwingli. Protection is not one of them.” He leaves the office then, holding his shoulders tightly in place. He can't let Vosh see that he is not in control.


	37. Eduard’s Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raivis finally confronts Eduard about his college plans, leading to a nasty argument between the two. To top it off, it's Eduard's 18th birthday, and Ivan has a surprise he won't soon forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, THANK YOU FOR 100 KUDOS, and all of your comments as well! They mean a lot to us, and we appreciate every single one! Second, sorry it has taken us so long to update! We are both extremely busy right now, so unfortunately, updates will probably continue to be slow. Thanks for sticking with us anyway!
> 
> **WARNING:** This chapter contains explicit sex (and one of the rarest Hetalia thruples you'll ever see). If you'd prefer not to read it, stop when you reach the second section break marked +XXX+

Raivis has been avoiding Eduard since he discovered Eddie’s intentions to leave. Since he wasn’t about to go back to Kaoru’s, he’s been staying with other friends – and pointedly ignoring the thugs who follow him like he’s one of Ivan’s expensive deliveries. Apparently that’s not far from the truth.

His friends are not exactly the scholarly type, so he wakes up an hour late for school on Monday. Cursing, he throws himself together, grabs a cab to school, and sneaks into his first class. As he copies the date into his notebook, it triggers something in his mind. It’s Eduard’s birthday. His _eighteenth_ birthday. Part of Raivis feels guilty for forgetting, but the rest of him twists with something closer to dread. Eighteen means that as of today, Eduard can leave any time he wants to. The thought hits him so hard that he actually breaks his pencil.

Raivis spends the rest of the morning distracted. All he can think about is Eddie. Eddie leaving him. Eddie going off to some university, forgetting Raivis even exists while he slips further and further into this hole he’s been digging for himself. His clothes are the same ones he wore yesterday, and they reek of beer. He ignores the odd looks he’s getting, especially from Kaoru, and slumps through his classes on autopilot - until he turns the corner after biology and sees Eddie at his locker.

Raivis moves faster than he can think, and in less than a minute he’s behind his so-called ‘brother,’ balling both fists into his dorky t-shirt. He spins Eduard around and shoves him against his locker like he means to start a fight, but then he only stares. Eduard’s face is drawn and his eyes are tired. It’s plain he stayed up all night studying again. For college. To leave. Raivis’ heart twists. For a long moment he doesn't say anything, until he finds his grip loosening and his strength faltering under that exhausted gaze.

When Eduard first felt the hands on his shirt he was afraid he was about to get his ass kicked. It's rare for any of the numerous school tough-guys to go after him or Raivis, if only because they know of Ivan’s bloody reputation. If Ivan wasn't his guardian, he would probably have spent the majority of his high school days eating the pavement. He is completely dumbfounded when he sees _Raivis_ is the one holding him. For one thing, he didn’t realize Raivis had become so strong. For another, Eddie hasn't seen him for two days, and he's been worried sick. “Raivis! Where have you _been_? We were so worried!”

Raivis doesn't even hear the words. He’s far more concerned with the way Eddie’s staring at him, bags under his eyes, and why the hell won't he _sleep_ anyway? Or eat something that's not a pack of peanut butter crackers? Or... Why can't Raivis stop _caring_?

“You're leaving,” he says, relaxing his fists.

Eduard stares, uncomprehending. “What?” He's very well aware of all the looks they're getting, and he wishes Raivis would wait so they could talk somewhere else.

Raivis’ fingers curl again, and he pushes Eddie harder against the locker. “ _Leaving_. Going away.” He breathes out slowly. “To college.”

Comprehension dawns and Eddie’s eyes widen. Right before Raivis disappeared Ivan called Eddie into his office and gave him a huge, organized binder of college information – including what Eddie had hidden away. At first he’d been terrified. Admittedly not surprised, but afraid that he was about to find out what it really meant to cross Ivan the Terrible. Instead, there was a really awkward hug and a serious discussion about his future. Raivis must have overheard. “Well...yes. Ivan said he wanted me to. Can you believe it, Raiv?” He tries to smile. “I never thought he would let us leave.”

“No. No, actually, he wants _you_ to leave. Just you,” Raivis snarls, throwing Eduard against the locker one more time before stepping back. “When I showed him all those fucking pamphlets he lit up like a Christmas tree. Of _course_. Because you're the goddamn _Golden Boy_. You're the future of his little family, and I'm just going to be stuck here for the rest of my life while _YOU_ -” He breaks off, gritting his teeth against tears. “ _You_ get to go out there and live.”

“You _showed_ him?” Eduard feels like he's been punched in the stomach. Raivis knows how much this means to him; they’ve talked about it before, although he never showed him his private stock of dreams. “Why? Why would you _do_ that?! What if he'd decided to lock me in the cellar for a year instead?”

“Then you would've been better off!” Raivis spits, still livid with the thought of Eddie just... “Do you even know what you'd be leaving me to?!”

“Maybe to grow the fuck up!” Eddie yells, too angry to care that they're still in the middle of the hallway. “I don't understand it, Raivis, you ignore me for a year, act like you want nothing to do with me, and now you're angry that I want to go to college and make something of myself? It's all I've ever dreamed about! Why would you want to take that from me?”

“Because-” Raivis chokes on the words, scared of what might come out of his mouth next. _"Because I love you, and I need you, and I'm afraid of what will happen when you're gone.”_ That's the last thing he can say. “You know what? Fine. Go the fuck away! Don't even look at me for the rest of the year, don't even _pretend_ like you give a damn! Happy Birthday, asshole, and enjoy the rest of your fucking life!” He turns on his heel and cuts through the broken fire escape doors, intending to skip the rest of his classes. He doesn't care. There's no future for him here, or anywhere except under Ivan's thumb.

XXX

The ride home from school is agonizing, even with Katyusha's pleasant chatter about how wonderful it is that Eddie is all grown up. Raivis did not even manage to skip his afternoon classes; Ivan is apparently taking his education as seriously as Eduard’s because a couple of thugs picked him up and planted him right back in school. He anticipates an equally horrific evening.

Dinner is awkward, filled only with shallow chatter. Besides the Braginski family, only Toris is in attendance. Emil was supposed to come over to join them, as well as the Karpusi boys. But Emil is with Lukas and the Karpusis made their excuses at school. Something about their expressions told Eddie they were uninvited, which is just _great_. It seems Ivan wants this to be a family-only event.

Raivis stays as far away from Eddie as possible and tries to ignore the other four. When the ordeal is finally over, he expects Ivan to drag them all (even his poor, petrified assistant) into the parlor for gifts. His own gift for Eduard is in his room, and after their fight this afternoon, it will probably stay there.

Katyusha stands first, hugging Eduard from behind. “Oh, Happy Birthday, Eduard! I can’t believe you are all grown up now. Not too grown up for cake, though, I hope!”

“Never, Aunt Kat,” says Eddie, although his smile is worn and fake. Even his favorites tasted like sand tonight, and he knows it has nothing to do with Kat’s cooking.

Ivan catches his sister’s arm before she can return to the kitchen. “Thank you, Kat. But the cake will keep for a night, da?”

Kat blinks. “Ah, yes, I suppose it will. But why – oh, never mind. I will put it away, and this way I can get some more ice cream to go with it!” It’s best not to question Ivan. Clearly, he has something special in mind for Eddie tonight. She prays that ‘something special’ is something _nice_. Sighing to herself, she begins gathering the dishes and bringing them into the kitchen.

Ivan pushes back his chair and stands, making his way down the table to Eduard. He's been so sullen today, and Ivan truly hopes his surprise will cheer the boy. If it doesn't...well, enough vodka will fix anything! He forces another shot of it into Eduard's hand and holds up his own. “I have something special for you today. But first, to Eduard!” He drinks.

Raivis drinks as well, having surreptitiously spiked his own glass about twenty minutes ago. He doesn't look at Eddie as he drinks, choosing instead to watch Toris swallow his own vodka like his life depends on getting smashed as soon as possible.

Setting down his empty glass, Eduard wonders just what Ivan has planned. It’s a terrifying thought, considering the fact that his past several birthday presents have involved _very_ illegal weaponry and a lot of underage drinking. On the other hand, every once in a while Ivan comes through with something truly wonderful; like the time he bought Eduard an entire gaming system, or the year he gave Eduard his current laptop, complete with all the extras he could want. Maybe this will have something to do with college? He can't help glancing at Raivis before forcing his gaze back to Ivan. “Ah, thank you.”

Ivan chuckles. “You will be thanking me _much_ more tomorrow morning. Toris! Get Grell. We are going for a ride.” Ivan ruffles Raivis' hair a little too hard for it to be entirely friendly. He is not happy about the boy’s recent behavior. “You will stay with your aunts. They are very strict about age at this place, I am afraid. I will take you in a few years, if you are good.”

“I-!” Raivis pushes out of his chair, but Natalia immediately pushes him back into his seat like some kind of whack-a-mole. He looks to Toris, who has been kind to him and is generally easy to sway. Tonight, however, Toris refuses to even look at him. Cursing, he throws himself out of his chair and runs up to his room. Natalia follows, but he slams the door in her face.

Toris watches them go, a little worried. He's seen teenage angst – hell, he’s _been_ teenage angst. But Raivis wears it like it's his skin rather than some trendy t-shirt. Toris has been getting worried about him. For now, however, it is the older Braginski he needs to be concerned with. “When’s the appointment?”

Ivan glances at his watch. “Nine o'clock.”

Eduard frowns. This is getting weird. Wait…Ivan always said nothing made a man like killing one. This is it. Ivan's going to make shoot somebody, isn't he? He backs away. “Oh no, please, I can't!”

“Nonsense! Of course you can. It is very easy.” Ivan wraps an arm around Eduard's shoulders, increasingly pleased with this plan. If the boy is reacting like _that_ , then it is clear he is in need of some instruction. Or therapy, but Ivan has never found that to be much help. He tries to think of something that Eddie is comfortable with, and his eyes light up. “Just like a video game! You press the right buttons, big explosion, and you win!”

Eddie’s going to be sick. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. What's he going to do? There has to be a way out, although Ivan is already steering him out the door and into the car. “Ivan, sir, I mean...this isn't...!”

Despite his protests, Eduard finds himself between Ivan and Grell as they drive, unable to even contemplate leaping out of the car. He is determined not to let himself be bullied into murder. They’ll have to kill him first. He swallows at the thought.

They park across the street from Vodka Now!, and Toris tunes out Eduard's helpless pleas as he slides from the car to open the door for everyone. Grell exits first, surprisingly quiet as she observes the area. Eddie stumbles out shortly after, looking a bit sick. With a sigh Toris takes hold of his shoulders and steers him toward one of the most famous buildings in town. “Breathe, Eduard. Okay? I promise it's not rocket science. It's natural to be scared, but trust me: once it happens, you won't be able to wait to try it again.”

Eduard tries to dig his heels into the ground, so engrossed in his fears that he does not notice the multi-colored building or its bright signs. He can't believe _Toris_ , of all people, is encouraging this, when he’s always acted so sweet and shy! “No! I can't, I don't want to kill anybody!”

Ivan blinks. Kill? Perhaps Eduard is more of a lost cause than he thought. “Ah, I do not think that you will.” He frowns at Eddie's terrified face, and then understanding dawns. He laughs. “Oh! No, no, I am not taking you here for _that_! This is the _other_ way to become a man.”

Eduard stares back, trying to puzzle it out. _'Come on Eddie, you're smart enough to get this. What else does Ivan say?'_ He glances around for clues, and then he finally realizes what building they are in front of: The Rainbow Hotel and Spa. It's nothing in comparison to the massive casino next door, but he certainly knows it – and what happens inside. “You’re joking.”

Was this kid whacked one too many times with that pipe or something? At his age, Toris would probably have fucked tree stumps if he hadn’t had Feliks. Eddie looks like he's about to be thrown to the lions. Toris rests his hands on Eduard’s shoulders, both to reassure him and to keep him from bolting.

Ivan glances at Toris and shrugs. Sometimes he wonders about what happened to Eddie and Raivis before he found them. There are blank spots in their histories he's never been able to fill. Well, he trusts the people here will be gentle with his sweet little Eduard. Otherwise they will all be dead! He grins, noticing the pretty Madam waiting for them in the doorway. “Good evening!”

“Perfectly on time, as usual.” Elizabeta smiles her sweetest smile, taking Ivan’s hand in a firm shake. Unlike so many other clients, Ivan is never late. He does often go over-time, but that fact that he pays for it makes her more inclined to welcome him. Stepping back, she holds the door open for the entire entourage. “Now. Shall we discuss business?”

Toris pulls Eddie inside, following Ivan's orders to make absolutely certain he's not going to run. The inside of the foyer is classic, with a sweeping wooden staircase leading to the second and third floors and a glittering crystal chandelier. It’s almost elegant, and not too tacky. “See? It's not so scary,” he mutters to Eduard.

Eduard simply gapes. He's never been inside this place; after all, the Rainbow _is_ very strict about the age restriction. He never expected to go inside, let alone go inside to…to…! Perhaps it's not as terrifying as being forced into murder, but it's a close second. He cannot believe Ivan is actually giving him a prostitute for his birthday. Probably one with orders to make sure he's a 'man' by morning. He looks over at Eliza and blushes. She's very pretty.

Ivan pulls out a roll of cash and grins, holding it out to Elizabeta. “One full night, doing whatever Eduard wants, with anyone he wants. If he does not know, teach him. Make sure you are good to my son, Eliza. If he is unhappy, _I_ will be unhappy.”

Eliza pulls down the hem of her high-cut pink dress and bends over her appointment book for an overlong moment (a little advertising never hurt anybody). Everything at the Rainbow is handwritten on paper and never entered into a computer. Paper, when burned, is gone, while computer data never really dies. She turns back with a wide smile for that thick roll of cash. “It will be a little more than that to make _everyone_ available.”

“Like not burning this fine establishment to the ground?” Ivan laughs in a way that makes it impossible to tell if that is a threat or a joke. He takes out more money anyway. “You know my employees are the ones who make up half your business. And I _have_ talked to them about being gentlemen. Besides, tonight is fun for everyone.” He puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and pushes him forward. “Eddie is a virgin! As far as I know - is still true, da, Eddie?”

Eduard goes from sheet white to bright red. “Um...” He doesn’t even want to consider how or why Ivan knows. He’s learned to simply accept the fact that Ivan knows _everything_.

Eliza’s eyes widen, and she finally turns to look at the cute little thing she's been presented with for the evening. Oh. Dear. GOD, he is ADORABLE. She claps a hand over her mouth, the other snatching the money from Ivan's fingers. When she finally manages to control her giggles, she throws her arms around Eduard and grins at Ivan. “Don’t you worry, sweetie. We’ll take _very_ good care of him!”

“Happy Birthday! Enjoy, Eduard!” Ivan says. Then he takes hold of Toris' shoulders and pushes him onto a couch. “Toris. You will stay here, make sure all goes well. I have business with Mr. Wang.” He nods to Grell, who is already looking a bit too happy for a body guard. “Oh, and indulge if you wish. I know you are getting no sex at home. Very sad.”

“S-sir, I don't need to-”

Immediately, a dark-skinned man drops onto the couch beside Toris and reaches for his belt.

“I-- I don't-- OhmyGod!” Toris pushes the, um, very attractive man's hand away. He can't help blushing. “I, um. Don't want. That. I'm good.”

The man, Gupta, pouts, and stares at Toris for a long moment before getting up and wandering toward a more interested customer. He’d certainly be happy to spend the evening with the sweet boy under Liza’s arm – and he’s not alone. A blushing virgin with a stack of cash has every prostitute within hearing distance lurking closer, hoping to seduce him.

With Ivan’s departure and the appearance of several leering men and women, Eduard’s suddenly afraid that Ivan’s real intention is to sell him. He feels like he's already naked with the way they're looking at him. Is that what it's all been about? Not college, but prostitution? He reaches back, hoping to catch Toris' sympathy. “W-wait! What...?!”

Eliza looks down at him, raising her eyebrows as she realizes that he may actually be as innocent as he looks. Either that, or Ivan taught him one hell of a poker face. “Relax, sweetheart. I promise, you are going to have a _wonderful_ night. In fact, customer satisfaction is guaranteed.” She winks, but the poor thing is still tense as a rabbit. Softening her smile, she leads him to Toris’ couch and sets him down. “Really, dear, it’s _your_ birthday. You run the show; nothing happens that you don’t want. We are here to make _your_ fantasies come true. So…what do you like?”

Eduard’s blush deepens. Dear God, he's going to die of embarrassment before the night is out. He couldn't even do this with his boyfriend when he had one. He and Emil had never been ready; Emil barely seemed comfortable kissing, and they were both shy and awkward about that anyway. He’s never been like Raivis, able to enjoy himself and forget the consequences, to make friends so easily, to do things for the sake of experiencing them – and possibly just to annoy everyone else. Why is he even thinking of Raivis? He isn't here, he's a little brat, and Eduard...well, Eduard is eighteen today. It’s time he had an experience of his own.

Despite his new-found determination, Eduard cannot help being very self-conscious of all the people here. He swallows and leans closer to Liza so he can whisper in her ear. The Madam thinks for a moment, then smiles and taps his nose. “I believe I have _exactly_ the pair for you.”

+XXX+

Although he is still nervous, a bit of alcohol and a few gentle words have quieted Eduard’s fears. He is actually looking forward to the rest of the night - particularly with the opposite shades of beauty flanking him on the bed. On the left is sunny, lovely Francis, the most famous whore in town, and on the right is dark and exquisite Kiku, the exotic creature who'd gone from bastard to concubine. They’ve already made a wonderful show of stripping each other down to nothing, then helping him out of his clothes between sweet kisses. If he’s breathless and flushed from just _that_ , then surely he has nothing to fear. Francis and Kiku have been exceedingly kind to him so far.

Francis runs his long fingers up a pale leg, leaning over Eduard to steal a kiss. “Still with us, mon cheri?” He loves working with virgins, because he desperately wants it to be good for them, to show them what sex can be and make sure they are comfortable, that nothing hurts. After what's happened to him, and to most of his coworkers, unfortunately, he likes to think he might actually be doing some good this way. The fact that the boy is _adorable_ is simply a bonus.

The sight is enough to make Kiku grin, all too happy to see Francis taking pleasure in his work again. He leans on the bed post to watch them for a moment. The boy certainly seems to be enjoying himself as well. Even in the dim light he can see the blush on Eduard’s cheeks, and the growing erection between his legs. His eyes are wide and he’s leaning back against the pillows as though he could be quite content to lie there forever. “I hope you're not going to fall asleep on us.”

“I don't think so.” Eddie shakes his head, blushing darker at the tremor in his voice. They're barely even touching him! He never thought he'd enjoy such a present, but he has a feeling he actually will be thanking Ivan tomorrow.

Kiku laughs and crawls over the bed to kiss Eduard on the stomach, then Francis on the hip. “So. Be honest. Have you thought of men before?”

It is very hard to thing at _all_ like this. But faces flash before his mind’s eye: old crushes, a few celebrities, the pale boy with whom he's shared all the experience he has, and the one face that should not be there at all. “Y-yes. More than girls.” He admits it freely now that he's a little more comfortable. Francis and Kiku have never yet laughed at him, even though he knows he's made mistakes and said some silly things.

Kiku lets his fingers tiptoe up Francis' hip, teasing a spot that he'd bitten not long ago. “Have you tried anything? Is there anything you may already know?” His eyes slide up to Eduard’s face, and he laughs to see Francis so close to him, preparing to take a taste before he is allowed. “Now, Francis. As much as I hate it, patience is due.”

Francis pouts overdramatically, running a hand over Eddie's chest. “It is difficult when we have such a delectable treat, non?”

Kiku slides both hands up Eduard's body, taking in the sight of them so naked, so close. “You know blonde is my favorite flavor. If I can be patient, so can you.”

Francis blows him a kiss, then smiles at Eddie as they both draw patterns over his skin. “Do not be shy, Eduard. Tell us, and perhaps we will tell you about what _we've_ tried. On the other hand, that may take all night!” He laughs, gratified when the boy smiles in return.

“Um...I did have a boyfriend. But we didn't, ah...” Eddie can't keep track of the sentence, not with both of them touching him like that. No one has ever touched him so intimately before. Emi is – _was_ not a very touch-driven person. He was usually satisfied with holding hands, and that had been enough for Eduard, too. “We kissed. And, um, touched, but...we weren't very good at it. The touching. The kissing was really good.”

Kiku smiles a little, sliding up Eduard’s body to touch the tip of his nose. “Touching is better with the proper... necessities.” He raises an eyebrow at Francis, dragging his finger down to the boy's swollen lower lip. “Isn't that right, Frannie?”

“Mm,” Francis hums, reaching over to goose Kiku and then pressing his fingers against Eddie's cheek. “Will you kiss me, then? Do not worry about Kiku. He's only jealous.”

Kiku makes a rough, jealous little noise, and swoops down to take the side of Eddie's mouth before he can dare lay his lips to Francis’.

“You see? And he says that I am impatient!” Francis says. His eyes glitter as he watches their little crumpet get all fired up, just like that. Oh, he _likes_ this one. He thought anyone raised by Ivan, whether or not they came from his blood, would be rough and violent. Yet Eduard is tender, sweet, and clever. He's eager to see more.

By the time Kiku pulls back, he is flushed and breathless with the hot thrum of a _very_ good kiss pulsing through his blood like expensive liquor. He licks his lips, letting them crawl into a slow grin as he turns to Francis and touches his chin. “You _are_ impatient.” He leans down and takes his mouth, offering their boy a show that many have paid good money to see.

Good God. Eduard is going to die tonight, he’s sure of it. There is no way one can experience this much pleasure and not simply keel over. But then he would miss college, and Emi, and Raiv - and his brother should stay FIRMLY buried in the back of his mind at times like this, even if they don’t share any genetics. “I...” How is he this hard already?

Francis pulls back from the kiss slowly, letting Eddie see their tongues slide. He nips once at Kiku’s lip before pressing his own to Eddie’s neck, just below his ear. “We can kiss things other than lips, you know. Perhaps, as you are so good at the kissing already, you would like to learn more of that?”

Kiku lets his hands wander, skimming down the boy's stomach to touch the fine, firm skin of his cock, covered in lovely blonde curls. He leans his head to the side, dragging his tongue over the shell of Eduard’s ear. “We are here to teach you. One of us could suck you, while you… _kiss_ the other. Would you like that?”

Eduard practically arches into their hands, feeling Francis' fingers slide down next to Kiku's. “Da! Yes!”

Francis strokes him slowly, following Kiku's fingers. “What do you think, Kiku?” He runs his free hand through Kiku's hair and over his face, one finger tugging gently at his lips. “I know you like my mouth. But this one is new.”

Kiku hums, taking that finger into his mouth and sucking it hard before releasing it with a decadent lick. “I think Eduard should decide whose cock he feels like sucking.” He falls to Eduard's side, pressing an easy kiss to his jaw and opening his legs to display his cock. “What do you think, birthday boy?”

Eduard hesitates, afraid to offend and terrified he'll do something wrong. Aren't prostitutes supposed to tell you it was good no matter what? He forces himself to look down at them both and swallows. Well, Francis is a bit bigger, so maybe for his first time... “Um, yours...not that I wouldn't, I mean it's just…” He shuts his mouth and blushes to the roots of his hair.

Kiku laughs. “He's a little bigger, I know. You don’t need to be afraid to say so; I promise, unless your intention is to cause pain, there is no ‘wrong’ thing to say or do with us. You are wonderful, you _will_ be wonderful.” He rolls onto his back, guiding Eduard to his side.

“Do not fret for me, either, cheri. I will prove just how patient I can be. If you do not mind, I will play with _this_ masterpiece.” Francis gives the boy's cock a stronger stroke, provoking a pretty groan. “If you like something I do, then say so and I will show you how it's done. Of course, if Kiku likes something, you must show _me_!”

Kiku knows this role well. He's famous for being a star receiver in this line of work; men love to watch him come like they love to come themselves. It's a rare whore who can make men want to pleasure _them_ that badly, and it's part of why he's almost as popular as Francis. Licking his lips, Kiku lets himself fall back to the pillow and spreads his legs, letting Eduard settle between them while Francis gets the condoms. “It is much less complicated than some make it seem; less about technique and more about the simple things. How hard you suck. What you do with your hands. How you move your mouth, whether you can take me down your throat.”

“Mm, but one thing at a time!” says Francis, shifting Eddie to his knees and finally lying under him. He kisses the boy’s hip as he rolls the condom on and tosses the second to Kiku. “Be comfortable. Touch him, kiss. It's the little things that make it so nice.” He demonstrates, running his hand up Eduard's thigh and pressing several more kisses along his hip and stomach.

Eduard follows Francis' advice, leaning on one elbow so he can run his other hand over Kiku's leg. Hesitantly, he kisses his belly. “Is that...okay?”

Kiku hums in agreement, his hand sliding over his stomach to touch Eduard's hair. He has soft, wheat-blonde hair, the color of Francis' or lighter - he can't tell in this light. But it's soft as feathers, and the hand that drags up his thighs makes him want to open his legs wide for him. He hums a little, running his fingers down to caress Eduard’s cheek. “It’s lovely. Kiss me anywhere you like.”

Eduard has a constant blush now, fresh heat rising to his face every time they speak. Or maybe that's just Francis, laying kisses and touches ever closer to his cock. Again he follows the sensations on his own body, mirroring Francis' movements. Kiku seems to like it, and he starts to lose himself in the simple actions. That is, until a kiss is laid to the very tip of his cock.

The boy makes such a pretty noise Francis thinks it is almost a shame to fill up his mouth. He pets Eduard’s thigh and gives his cock another lick, just to hear him gasp. “Now then, you don't want to keep your lover waiting too long, or they will get impatient. Let me start, mm?”

Kiku watches the whole show play out in Eduard's eyes, so gorgeous in their need, their intensity as Francis teases him. The poor thing needs to learn some stamina. “Take it as slow as you like,” he says, caressing Eduard's cheek and tracing the line of his throat. “I could come just watching your pretty face.”

As Francis’ hot, wet mouth wraps around him Eduard’s eyes widen, and more noises fall from his mouth before he can stop himself. He clutches at Kiku's thigh and presses his forehead against his hip. He does feel a bit neglectful, however, with that hard cock right next to his cheek. He nuzzles against it, then turns to lick the base.

Kiku lets out a slight, tiny noise at the teasing touch of tongue. “That's right,” he sighs, stroking easily down Eduard’s throat, then back up to his over-kissed lower lip. Such a pretty face with such a sweet tongue... “Take your time. I can be patient for pretty things.”

Usually, Eduard is a very patient person, but these two make it nearly impossible. Francis is barely sucking on him and he's already trying not to thrust blindly into the man’s mouth. He needs a distraction - and Kiku is right there. Eddie kisses the base of Kiku’s cock one more time before licking the tip experimentally. It tastes like cherries and plastic - the condom, of course. But it's not bad. He puts his mouth on the tip and sucks, trying again to imitate what Francis is doing to him.

Kiku bites into his lower lip, letting his head fall back and his hand climb to Eduard's hair. He has such a delightful mouth, moving in tandem with Francis' practiced routine. He can relax into this, enjoy it, pet this little kitten and let him do exactly as he-

“Oh!” His eyes pop open and he gasps as Eduard does something... _else_. Something he's never felt from Francis, never done himself. It makes his toes curl, his body arch, and his breath leave him. “Oh, yes! Like that!”

Francis is surprised to hear those kinds of moans from Kiku. They aren't faked; Kiku is _really_ enjoying himself. He wishes he could see more, find out what Eddie is doing to elicit such a reaction. However, his job is to make Eduard feel good. He takes more of Eduard into his mouth and down his throat, bobbing his head. The thighs under his hands tense and quiver, and Francis slows his movements, determined to help the boy last.

Eduard has given up on mimicking Francis exactly; the task was nearly impossible, since that mouth is steadily reducing his brain to mush. Instead he starts to find the spots that make Kiku's breath hitch, drawing on memories of Emil, of fumbling beneath his clothes with clumsy hands and the few times it was almost satisfying. He curls his tongue a little, acting on instinct, and feels Kiku tug his hair. He hopes this really does feel good to Kiku, and that he’s not just pretending. Eddie certainly feels good; he's not sure he's going to hold on much longer.

“Oh God!” Kiku curses, spine arching up, knees raised and feet pressed flat into the mattress. He can’t just lie there anymore; his body is coiling like an electrified spring. He explodes with a shout that is uncalled for from a simple blowjob and falls back to the bed, shaking.

Eduard is sure it's mostly a show, because there's no way _he_ could make someone come like that. But it's so sexy he doesn't mind, and he keeps sucking and licking until Kiku pulls away. That must be some kind of cue, because Francis stops holding back. He grabs Eduard's hips and takes him all the way down his throat, swallowing and sucking and... “FUCK!” Eduard thrusts his hips hard into that mouth, completely losing it. It's a good thing Francis is holding him up, because his limbs turn to jelly and the front half of his body collapses over Kiku.

Francis allows the boy to ride it out, stroking him gently until his body stills. Finally he sits up, still licking his swollen lips, and disposes the condoms. The pair on the pillows are both flushed and breathing deliberately, trying to regain a normal rhythm. He smirks. “I see you _both_ enjoyed that, oui?”

Kiku slides a hand through Eduard's hair, slowly carrying him back down from the orgasm he's enjoying. “Eduard gives better head than you, Frannie!” He laughs, almost delirious, finally taking Eduard by the chin and pulling him into a long, languid kiss. “You're such a treat, aren't you?”

“Better than _moi_?” Francis exclaims. Now that must be an exaggeration! Or so he hopes - he has to keep some of his ego intact, after all. “Well cheri, you will have to show me what you have been doing. If you are up for it, of course. You run the show!” His eyes glitter, and he leans down to steal the boy's lips from Kiku. Delectable.

With a smirk, Kiku moves behind Eduard and slides down his body, letting Francis take Eddie’s lips and make him comfortable. “I think I want a taste. One no one's had yet.” He drags a slow finger from the boy's scrotum and up his cleft to his hole. Oh, he's already squirming! Kiku is starting to wonder if they're going to have to pay _him_ to come back! “Would you mind?”

“N-no...” Eduard moans, a shiver running all the way down his spine. Francis is already busy replacing the condoms, handing Kiku a different package. Growing bolder, he licks Francis' thigh. “Can I practice some more?”

Francis starts a little, not expecting the dart of tongue from one so shy. Perhaps not so shy now! He smiles, settling back against the pillows and handing the condom to Eduard. “Practice that too, my eager lover. It is most important! But then, please _do_. I want to know what you did to make Kiku so pleased!”

Kiku grins wolfishly at Francis, his finger sliding over that hole, teasing it with his nail and making him jolt, clench, and shudder. He moves his other palm over Eduard’s left round and squeezes it. “Look at his ass, Francis. When you take it, I bet it will feel like heaven.”

“Ngh!” Eduard’s eyes go wide and his whole body jumps. He can't help wondering if it will hurt, but so far he's eager for more. It's barely been five minutes and he's hard again. Then there’s Francis, who hasn’t come at all yet. He licks his lips and rolls the condom on him, careful to do it just like they showed him.

Francis watches eagerly, heat pooling in his stomach at the sight of Eduard leaning over his cock while Kiku toys with his ass. “Mmm...lovely. I like seeing you like this, bent over, already begging for a taste.” His hands card through Eduard's soft hair, thumbs brushing over his ears.

Kiku pinches that pretty ass on both cheeks to pull it open, spreading the sheet of latex over him. He licks up the right round, then back to the middle, the tip of his tongue slithering over Eduard’s hole and down his cleft again. He groans and slips his arms around Eduard’s thighs, reaching for his cock.

Just that edge of sensation has Eddie hard as a rock, groaning and clinging to Francis. He can feel the vibration of the blonde's chuckles through Francis' stomach. That just gives him ideas. He takes Francis' cock in his mouth with far less teasing and lets Kiku's tongue dictate how good Francis feels.

Look at him, picking up on the game that fast! Kiku slides his tongue round and round that hole until he finally thrusts it inside, twisting his hands around Eduard's lubed up condom. Slowly, he sucks and licks, coaxing him open and making him clench. It's pure heaven.

“Mon Dieu,” Francis sighs. Kiku wasn't kidding. This boy is a natural; Eddie is doing things with his tongue that even he has never thought of, quickly finding all the spots that make him tug on that blonde hair or toss his head and groan. He looks down over Eduard's sweetly bowed back and traces a hand up his spine, briefly locking eyes with Kiku.

Francis is so high on this little treat right now, Kiku half-wonders if he'll keep Eduard as his new drug. The thought makes him smirk for a second, twisting his hand around the base of Eduard’s cock. His other hand slides up to meet Francis' in the middle of Eduard's spine, where he briefly twists their fingers together. He presses his tongue into Eduard and breaches him further than he has yet, almost shuddering at the sound the boy makes around the cock in his mouth. Kiku can feel him shaking, thighs trembling on the edge. Francis is in bliss, gently rocking into Eduard's mouth as though he's the john here, and it's absolutely gorgeous. He wants to give Eduard a treat for the trouble.

Kiku pulls back and kisses the small of Eduard’s back as he peels away the sheet of latex. Then, sliding off to the side, he reaches past him to grab the lube. “Brace yourself,” he sighs softly against Eduard’s ear, lubing his fingers.

Eduard grabs hold of Francis' thighs and pulls off his cock. The man whines, and he leaves a trail of apologetic kisses across his skin. Better to leave him wanting than to accidentally bite. He's heard this can hurt, and it makes him nervous. He shivers.

It is very difficult not to pull Eduard back onto his cock, but with customers, Francis has more self-control than most give him credit for. Besides, it is easy to recognize the stress in Eduard's grip, and a look down at his face tells the same story. Francis smiles gently and pets him, rubbing soothing circles along his shoulders. “Fear not, mon lapin. It will be good, I promise. I've got you, you are in _very_ good hands with us. Are you ready?”

Kiku waits for Eduard’s nod, watching Francis soothe the frightened boy with a care and sweetness normally reserved for clients who are in a self-medicated state. Smiling softly, Kiku rubs his finger around the hole, as if applying gloss to its lips. Then slowly, he breaches him, pushing his middle finger inside and searching for his prostate, hoping to hit it before the discomfort kicks in.

Eduard hisses, but it isn't so bad. He’s relaxed from his earlier orgasm and Kiku’s tongue. Plus, Francis' fingers seem to be working magic over his back, making him feel as though he could take a nap right now and be perfectly fine. Not that there is any way he could fall asleep; not when he's this hard and one of Kiku's fingers is pressing inside, gently twisting, bending and- “AH!”

Francis grins as Eduard jerks forward in his lap, digging nails into his thighs and pressing his face against his stomach. Francis doesn't mind at all. He likes the feel of Eddie's hair against his skin, likes the pressure against his cock, _loves_ watching him come apart between them with just a little touch. “Beautiful, Eduard. Such a pretty sight.”

With a slow shift, Kiku presses his finger up against that place, rubbing it as he tries to slide the tip of another finger inside. “It's amazing, isn't it?” he whispers to Eduard, as though he's sharing a trade secret. “Like being on fire.”

Eduard nods, barely able to comprehend that he's being spoken to. There's still a slight burning pain, but it is outweighed entirely by the flames racing through his blood. Why _has_ he never tried this before? Unbidden, an image of Raivis comes forth. He suppresses it, telling himself it is because he always wondered why Raivis seemed to enjoy this kind of thing so much.

Kiku stretches him carefully, keeping mind of his prostate but working around it, wanting to keep Eddie here for the finale. His eyes shoot to Francis, knowing he loves to do the honors. Dragging his finger over the nub one more time, Kiku pulls his fingers out and leans over to kiss Eduard’s shoulder. “There you are, stretched and open. Kami Sama, if you could see yourself...” He sighs, tasting the salt of Eduard’s skin again and dragging his fingers down his side. “You're lovely.”

“If you like it, darling, we could keep going,” says Francis. “We can do it just like this. You can come up here, and I'll hold you. Kiku will do what he does best, I am sure - that is, be distracting.”

Eduard doesn't think it is possible for him to blush any redder, but pleasant trembles run through him as all those dirty, pretty words compliment their touches. Dear God, if Raivis knew what he was about to - well, screw Raivis. Let him be the one left wondering for once. As for Emil, perhaps if he learns how to make this comfortable, he can show him that not every relationship has to end the way of Luk and Mattias. All of this runs through his head in an instant, heavily influenced by a decision already made by his aching cock. “Da.” He shifts up Francis' body and kisses his lips.

Kiku grins up at Francis and sits back on his heels to watch the show. The way that boy has wound around Francis makes him wish he had a camera. “Perhaps I won't distract you, then. Perhaps I'll just watch. And help.” He snatches up the lube and crawls toward them, his own body pressing against Eduard's back as he pops the cap with his thumb. Pouring a little into his palm, he wraps his arms around Eddie to reach between them and lube up France's condom-sheathed cock. It's already wet from Eduard’s mouth, but spit isn't really adequate lube - especially not for a virgin. Kiku presses his mouth against Eduard’s throat, sucking and nipping.

Both Eduard and Francis groan. Eduard must admit, he is beginning to understand why people come to the Rainbow. They are _very_ good at this; not that he has much for comparison. He wraps his arms around Francis, trying to quell the rapid beat of his heart and the nerves that continue to tie knots in his stomach, no matter how much he wants this.

As soon as he's slick enough, Francis has to grab Kiku's wrist; a few more twists like that and he won’t be much good to anyone. Together, they arrange Eduard over his lap, legs spread over Francis and Francis’ hands gripping Eduard’s hips. Francis shivers at the feel of that sweet, tight hole against his cock. He nods to Kiku, who keeps kissing and touching Eduard to relax him. “Hold on to me, Eddie. Tell me what feels good, and if it doesn't I'll stop. There's no harm in pausing, or ending this altogether. One way or another, I intend to make you feel spectacular.”

“Francis has never made anyone feel less than spectacular,” Kiku promises. He has to lean over Eddie to kiss Francis then, for all that he has done. The generosity in that touch, the way he has this boy slowly melting into their hands, his ability to keep his composure even while they are both so close.

Eduard's eyes are screwed shut, so he doesn't see the kiss. Instead he feels their skin against his, feels himself nodding and letting his hips slowly drop down as Francis pushes up. His nails dig into the man's shoulders and his breath hitches, coming in harsh gasps as he tries to adjust to the stretch. It's not pain, but it isn't exactly comfortable either. At the same time, he does not want to stop.

“Please...” Eduard whispers, although he has no idea what he's asking for. Kiku kisses his neck and he relaxes into their grasp. His body opens, and before he knows it Francis is all the way in.

God, he's so tight! Francis ends up pressing his forehead against Eddie's neck to keep from moving too quickly. It has been far too long since he had anyone like this. He smooths back Eduard's sweaty hair and kisses the wrinkles in his forehead, waiting for him to adjust.

Kiku drags his fingers down Eduard’s sides and holds him up as he arches with the most precious noises, bottoming out and letting his head fall back in sheer pleasure. He's almost jealous; Francis' cock is a treat he would have whenever it's free. He laps up the sweat trickling down the boy’s neck and drags his tongue up his jaw, lapping into his ear.

The discomfort wanes into a feeling of fullness, of heat and pleasure mixing and making Eduard’s head spin. He blinks, and Francis offers a strained but encouraging smile. He smiles back, and they start to move. Immediately, things that are not remotely words begin to fall from his mouth. Francis makes short, slow thrusts as he explores Eduard’s body. Eduard tries to rock with him, shifting his hips until that cock smacks into his nerves and he _yelps_. “Oh!” His eyes blow open wide, although he doesn't need to see to know the other two are smirking at him. “Again.” Ivan would be proud; that is a demand, not a request.

Kiku laughs. “You heard the man!” And from the look in his eyes, Francis _did_. He has a grin on his face like he won the jackpot at La Citta. Kiku groans at the sight of them. Francis is working to hit that place again, _harder_ this time, and Eduard is squirming desperately between them. Kiku slides his hands up Eduard's chest, tweaking his swollen nipples before reaching down to wrap around his cock.

Francis has a rhythm now, still gentle, but deeper and more insistent. It's easy to know when he's found a good spot with Eddie making all those noises. The boy is an absolute pleasure to fuck; he can feel him trembling, and picks up the pace.

“Fuck!” Francis crashes into Eduard’s prostate at the same time as Kiku squeezes his cock. It sends Eddie hard over the edge, cursing in Russian as he clings to Francis. The man thrusts into him a few more times, and then lets go with a groan and a quiver. Eduard goes limp between him and Kiku, not sure he will ever breathe properly again.

Kiku moans just looking at them, taking hold of Eduard's hair and pulling him backward to kiss his mouth. The boy barely has the presence of mind to return it, and that alone is the only clue he needs. Eduard had a _very_ good first time – and he intends to see that his second is just as incredible.


	38. Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalia and Katyusha bond over their sisterhood and their place as Braginskis. Motivated by their talk, Natalia offers some advice to Raivis that may help him change his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments! You motivate us to keep writing and editing. It is also a fabulous birthday gift for PandaN :D

Ivan was quite cagey with Kat about where he was taking Eduard, which means that it was probably someplace she would not approve of. However, she trusts that he will not hurt or traumatize the boy – at least, not too much. Ivan needs his sons; he loves them, too, in his own way. He wants them to be happy, even if he tends to assume that their happiness will fit neatly into his plans. In any case, Ivan informed her that she would not be needed this evening, so she decided to do a little cleaning. She did the dishes, then the dusting, then the vacuuming, half-wishing Ivan would hire a maid. She knows exactly why he does not; Ivan trusts Katyusha far more than he trusts anyone else, and he knows that she will keep the secrets that she finds hidden in dusty corners.

Natalia watches Kat work from her perch at the top of the stairs, just in front of Raivis' room. She can hear Raivis moving around in there, cursing them all. It is an improvement to the screaming that went on earlier when he discovered she'd nailed his window shut and locked Eduard’s door to the connecting bathroom. Ivan told her not to let Raivis get out tonight, so she will see to it that he remains in that room, even though she _knows_ Ivan is off screwing around with that fool Yao, and Eddie is...well, she doesn't give a damn about whoever beds the brat. She twirls a knife between her fingers and keeps her eyes on her sister, thinking.

Perhaps Ivan has been asking Katyusha to perform too many domestic duties, but at least she is able to refuse him when she wishes. Natalia will always do what their brother asks, even if he leaves her behind to sulk on the stairs. He has learned to use Natalia’s affection as a means to an end. For a moment Kat feels sorry for her, but it is her life to do with as she pleases. She finishes her vacuuming and looks up at the stairs. “Would you like some tea, sister?”

Natalia turns up her nose for a moment, but tea does sound good. She has never been able to master such skills the way Kat has. Sometimes she wonders if Ivan loves Kat more for these: Kat's cooking, Kat's cleaning, Kat's...other features. Genetics certainly blessed the older sister in places where they skipped the younger. Natalia tugs on the ends of her pale blonde hair. “Yes, thank you.”

Wandering into the kitchen, Kat puts the kettle on and waits for it to boil, trying to decide whether she has the money from her side-jobs to rent her own apartment, away from the dangerous life Ivan has made for them. She works part-time at a café in the nicer section of the city and patches clothes for some of the Braginski employees. Ivan has Toris to help him now; he doesn’t need her as much as he used to. She has the skills to survive on her own. After all, she is the one who worked and raised her siblings when they first came to America. That is the very reason Kat remains unsure; if she were to leave, she would feel like she was abandoning them. She promised they would never be abandoned again.

The kettle starts to whistle. Kat turns off the stove to pour two cups, then carries them both up the stairs to join her sister. “It is the white peach tea you bought last week. Is good!” She smiles cheerily.

Natalia smiles a little in turn, glad that _someone_ appreciates it. Ivan likes peaches, but he hasn't touched the tea. _Yao_ has been making his tea lately, with all sorts of strange Chinese blends she does not know. But eventually Ivan will get bored, and then she will be here to welcome his return with the Dragon’s heart in her hand. She sips the tea, not minding the way it burns her tongue.

They're quiet for a moment, until Kat flinches when something hits the door. Natalia smiles a little. “Do not fret, sister. If a monster appears, I will take care of it.”

Another loud thump follows, and Kat turns to watch the door. “Is not monsters I worry for.” She's always seen something in those two boys that makes her heart wrench. Ivan is not known for his kindness and generosity toward strangers, yet somehow, Eduard and Raivis became family. Katyusha worries for them as much as she would if they were her nephews by blood. She is scared for Raivis because he is pulling away from the thing he loves most, almost violently, and she is scared for Eduard because he does not seem to understand why the friendship he once held so dear is being thrown away. They are children still, no matter how many birthdays have passed; children like she, Ivan, and Natalia never had the chance to be, and so cannot really understand. “Will he be alright?”

“The brat?” The word is not entirely without affection; the boys are, after all, something Ivan loves, which means Natalia must love them too (and perhaps, deep down, she loves them just a little on her own). “I don't know. I think he's a coward.”

Natalia is well aware that Raivis is in love with Eduard. Even if she did not make it her job to know, the fact is obvious to everyone but Eduard himself - and perhaps Ivan. Her poor brother is so busy looking in a million places at once he tends to miss the things that are closest to his face. Like her. For a time Natalia thought she understood Raivis a little more because of his affections. She liked the way he put himself between Emil and Eddie, even if it was against Ivan's wishes. Now, however… “He's giving up. If it was real love, he would never give up. He would be out there now, sneaking into the hotel or watching from a window.”

Kat’s eyes flick to her sister, and she tries not to smile. How Natalia manages to learn things no one else does has always amazed her. “What hotel? Is there a surprise party going on?” She tries to think of what Ivan could possibly have arranged. “Oh! Did he arrange a screening of that odd movie Eduard wanted to see? The one with all the bright colored blood?”

“Not unless the Rainbow does something very different than I believed.”

“The Rain-” Kat’s eyes widen at the words, and she sits back, nearly sloshing her tea all over. “Ivan is taking Eduard to... to _THERE_?”

Natalia rolls her eyes. “Of course. Ivan is very concerned that our Eduard has no idea how to properly woo a lover. So tonight he will learn. And learn, and learn, and learn, if I hear right about that place.”

Kat goes beet red. So _that's_ why Ivan wouldn’t tell her! “Oh God!” She covers her mouth, looking over her shoulder toward Raivis' room, so worried for the future of this family, the future of these boys. “Does Raivis even know?!”

Natalia shrugs. “I doubt it. Otherwise he would not be sulking like that.” If he knew, perhaps he would be acting. She looks at her sister then, observing more closely. Ivan may trust Kat with his secrets, but Natalia excels at knowing things that she has never been told – like apartment searches and private bank accounts, or the occasional female “friend.” Ivan is not the only one who hides things. “Katyusha...you know, I do not tell Ivan everything. Some things he does not need to know. Poor brother has enough on his mind, nor would I see bad things happen to the family. It is precious to him, and I care for you too.”

Kat’s expression softens to a point near tears, and she smiles happily, placing a soft hand on her dear sister's knee. “I care for you both very deeply. I look out for our family too. I try very hard. I wish I could do more. You are right not to worry him.” She turns her head toward Raivis’ room again, which has gone nearly silent. He's playing his video games now, blowing off steam as he shoots aliens. “I worry for the boys.”

Natalia nods. She worries for them too. Ivan is always thinking of those boys; they are his biggest project. Even she is not sure just what he means to do with them in the end, but she knows that in few months, there will only be one. Eduard will go off to college, and then they are to leave him alone. It's a strange order. She knows everyone’s secrets because she is constantly listening for them, and it feels wrong to turn a deaf ear to Eduard. “I worry for Ivan. I do not think he realizes there is a new threat.”

“Oh?” Kat asks, sipping her tea. With Nat, there is always a new threat, a new enemy. She seems to think that the more she fights for her brother's love, the more he will love her in return. But she _has_ been very good about ridding the family of problems as of late, often before they become truly dangerous. “Is there anything I can do?”

Natalia considers what she knows and what she does not. Kat has a sweet face, the kind people trust. That is another thing that skipped the younger Braginski siblings, and it could be very useful for them now. “Keep an ear out for La Citta. Too many of them believe Ivan is the one who killed Gilbert.” She does not ask if Ivan killed him or not. She does not need to.  

“I will.” Taking Natalia's cup, Kat looks over her shoulder at the door one more time. “Raivis is... unhappy with the thought of Eduard leaving. I am sure you understand.” She tries not to think about the details of that understanding. Natalia loves their brother in ways she can never condone, but Kat loves both of them too much to condemn them for thoughts or actions. “I will warm this for you.”

“Thank you,” Natalia replies, and she means it. They do not always see eye to eye, but they are still sisters. Kat is right; she _does_ understand what Raivis is feeling. If Ivan were to leave her, she would find him. She would give everything to be with him, if only he would _notice_ how much she cares! Someday she will force him to see that she is the only one who has been there for him, always and forever.

When her sister is almost down the steps, she calls her back. “Kat, do you think... do you think he cares at all?”

Katyusha pauses, turning back to look at Natalia with no little confusion. “Of course he cares! He loves you very much, you are his dearest sister. Just think - he never knows where I am, and always knows where you are. Is a sign of affection.”

Natalia sniffs, wiping at her eyes and cursing feelings that she simply cannot bury. “Only so he can avoid me. He loves _you_ , he trusts you and he likes having you close.”

“He does trust you, Nat. And he loves you, too. He worries that letting you... as _close_ as you like would hurt things. Perhaps he simply does not understand. Brother is not always very smart about these things. But a love you fight for will always find a way, da?” She smiles wide and heads back to the kitchen to warm both cups of tea.

A love you fight for? Natalia feels like she has been fighting forever. However, Kat is right: the important thing is to keep on fighting until the very end, because Ivan is worth fighting for. She stands. If she 'understands' Raivis so much, then she ought to be a good aunt and encourage him. With a smirk, she knocks on the door. “Still sulking, brat?”

“Still spying, Auntie?” Raivis throws back, not even looking at the door. He's been killing aliens for the last fifteen minutes, and it's already getting old. He's so pissed off right now, at everyone and everything. Why can't anyone see why he's so angry? Why can't anyone tell him it's okay to feel that way, instead of making him feel like a child? He shoots a couple of low-level creatures and moves on to the boss, annoyed.

Natalia scratches down the wood, her sharp nails making the worst kind of sound. “Oh little nephew, you have no idea. Why do you sit in the dark and shoot fake things? All the while, your brother enjoys all the charms the Rainbow has to offer...”

“The what?!” Raivis whips around, dropping his gun. She could _not_ have just said that. Eddie would never... even if he _was_ angry. No. “He's... _What_?”

Just the reaction Natalia was hoping for. “Did dear Ivan not tell you? It is his birthday present to Eduard. His first time, with all the prettiest boys and girls in town. Too bad someone else did not take care of that for him sooner.”

Oh. Oh, Dear _God_ , Raivis is going to MURDER someone. Or maybe just curl up in a ball and cry. Of _course_ , because Ivan loves Eddie and he doesn't want him losing it to someone who will just bring him down. And Raivis doesn't need to know, does he? Because he's such a little brat...!

Raivis pushes off the floor and yanks his door open. “He's fucking a bunch of hookers tonight because everyone's afraid he'll sleep with someone who he gives a shit about first?!” Tears sting the corners of his eyes and he curls his fists, resolving to stop this idiotic shit and bring Eddie _home_ , whether he likes it or not. Because he can't just... he _can't_. “ _Move._ ”He pushes past Natalia and races for the stairs.

Natalia catches him around the waist, dragging him back against her body. She is a great deal stronger than she looks, and though it is not easy with the way Raivis is struggling, she prevents him from squirming free. “If you learn nothing else from me, _nephew_ , learn this,” she hisses in his ear. “You must bide your time. Fight, but fight when the benefit is yours. That is how you win.”

Raivis breathes in, trying to make sense of it all through his rage. When he finally relents, slumping in her grip, he is nearly ready to cry. “He is the one thing in this world that has ever been _good_. And now he's leaving me! Going off to find this big new life, and who gives a shit about the little kid who used to tag along and steal candy bars for him and talk about _everything_ \- I just mean _nothing_.” He closes his eyes, wishing he could punch a wall, or a person.

“So make yourself something he cannot lose. Right now, what are you but the brat brother who cannot handle things?” She releases the boy, unsure why she is helping him. Maybe she needs to believe that someone has a chance. If Raivis cannot win Eduard, what hope is there with someone so clever as Ivan?

Raivis slumps further, holding onto his doorway and keeping himself upright solely through force of will. “Eddie doesn't need anyone anymore. He's got Ivan and that... _whatever_ Emil is.” Spitting the last words like poison, he lowers himself to sit in his doorway and chews on his lower lip, afraid he may have fucked up beyond repair. “He doesn't care. He wouldn't leave me here if he cared.”

“Unless he cared too much.” Natalia shrugs, pulling the knife out of her belt so she can twirl it between her fingers and watch the light streak across it. “But what would I know? I do not care about you very much.”

Raivis thinks on it, trying to discern what she could possibly mean. Any inkling of hope - anything - and he feels like it's going to be alright. That’s probably just pathetic. “Do you think he does?” he asks softly, not sure why he's asking _her_ of all people.

Natalia raises an eyebrow. “I don't think _he_ knows. At the very least, you have competition.” She caresses the edge of her knife, thinking of her Ivan with Yao, and what they must be doing now. She slams the knife into the doorpost, inches from Raivis' head. “But that makes things interesting, da?”

Raivis blinks up at the knife, not really alarmed by it after all he's seen. But she is right. Competition... Well. What's the best thing to do with competition? “Do you think I can win?”

Natalia laughs. “Ivan says that victory goes to the last one standing. While I would never disagree with big brother...” She rips the knife out of the wood. “I say it goes to the last one in their head. The one they see when they close their eyes, who makes them shiver. What does it matter if that is fear, or anger, or desire? In the end, it is _you_.”

She would say that, because that is the way Ivan thinks. However, Raivis can’t think that way. He wants to be the one that keeps Eduard awake at night, the one who inspires his every blush and stammer, the one he thinks about while taking himself in hand. Like Eddie is for him. But perhaps she does have a point. He needs to see this as a competition. Maybe then there will be hope. “Thank you.”

Natalia stands, skirts almost slapping him in the face. “Do not be thanking me. When Ivan is mine, I will see you back on the streets, right beside your big _brother_. You can fuck him any way you want to then.” She sweeps down the steps, oddly satisfied with herself. At least babysitting was interesting this time.

Raivis glares at her back, half-wishing she'd trip and break her neck. Of course, then he'd probably be blamed. He slams his door, picking up his controller and shooting aliens with renewed enthusiasm. He is _not_ going to lose.


	39. Fortune Favors the Bold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tino makes a deal with La Citta Fortunata on behalf of the clinic. The boys at La Citta get lucky in more ways than one, and Feliciano comes up with a solution for Feliks - a permanent one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! We really appreciate them, and comments make our days! 
> 
> **WARNING** : This chapter contains explicit sex (well, explicit foreplay). Some of it could be read as **dubious consent**. If you'd prefer not to read it, stop when you reach the section break marked +XXX+, and rejoin us after the second section break (marked XXX). There is something important in that last section.
> 
> As always, an M rated version is available on Fanfiction.net.

It's a good night for La Citta Fortunata. In this casino the house always has the advantage, but tonight has been better than usual. It’s a holiday weekend and there are quite a few tourists, eager to spend a night or two in a place where they're free to revel in their sins. Along with the tourists, there are plenty of regulars around to make requests or pay their debts. That, after all, is the true business of the Bielschmidt and Vargas brothers.

For the moment they're relaxing between clients in the VIP lounge: Ludwig is straightening the room, Aster at his heels, while Feliciano cuddles Blackie and Berlitz, and Antonio shamelessly flirts with his boss. He's got an entire deck of cards spread out on the table, but whatever game they were playing has long been forgotten. Toni’s eyes - and hands - are on Lovino. He drags them down from Lovi’s waist to his hips, snatching his attention away from whatever Feliciano is going on about. “I always forget what a sweet ass you have.”

Lovi glowers, smacking the hands away. “Shut up you idiot! I don't pay you to touch me, go fuck Francis!”

“Like I could get in to see him this late.” Toni laughs, pulling him onto his lap and hitting his weak-spot - one hard nip to the ear. Lovino gasps, shivers, and curses all at once, squirming in his lap.

“I will send you _both_ to the Clinic if you don’t stop that,” Ludwig growls, and the German Shepard growls with him. “We still have another client coming in, and I don’t need you two humping like cats in heat!”

Said client is nervously waiting in the hallway outside. Tino is down to his last twenty bucks, since he had to buy food and some new supplies for the clinic. It's not enough. It's never enough. They need sterile tools, they need clean work spaces. They need blood and IVs and - God, everything. Chewing on his lower lip, he allows the guard to frisk him. Feliciano will take pity on him. He has to. _“God, please let him take pity,”_ Tino thinks.

Sadik goes through the motions of patting down their guest, not even enjoying the chance to feel someone up as freely as he wishes. He doubts he'd enjoy it even if Tino was a girl. He spends most of his nights outside this room, bored to tears. The walls are thick, and he can only hear the Italians when they yell. That leaves him nothing to do but think. If he could think about philosophy and science and politics and art, that would be fine. If he could think about strangling a certain deceased brat who liked to argue about such stupid things, that would be better. Instead his mind always strays to _her_.

He’s had this ridiculous infatuation with Helena Karpusi for so long that he can’t even imagine someone else in her place. She is like a goddess to him, and just as unattainable. He can’t blame her; he’s toxic to that family. One of these days he's going to find himself with a flower, pulling petals and saying "she loves me not." That day, he's going to shoot his own brains out.

It may come sooner rather than later. It's too quiet around here. It's been too quiet for months. Even when there are other guards on duty, they're nothing like Heracles. There's no fun to be had in arguing with them, or talking, or noticing that he looks just like his mother in a certain light... oh, fuck. He misses the brat. _This_ is why Sadik should not be left to his own thoughts.

Gritting his teeth, Sadik knocks on the door to the lounge and leans his head in. “The nurse is here.”

Feliciano slides out of his seat, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Tino! Luddy, Tino's come to visit again! Isn't that nice?” He likes Tino a lot. The nurse is shy and sweet, and very useful as a citizen with a clean reputation. Feli drags Ludwig over to the couch and sits in his lap, even as Lovino manages to worm his way off of Toni so he can sulk in a corner. He leans on Ludwig's shoulder, glad for the warmth of the broad chest and well aware of the kind of image they make. Public affections make Tino uncomfortable.

The dogs race forward to sniff at Tino, friendly enough once they recognize his scent. Ludwig snaps his fingers and all three return to him, ears pricked forward and alert for any further commands. Tino squirms, averting his gaze as Ludwig makes a show of kissing Feliciano's neck. It's hard to look at. Particularly tonight, as his mind strays to Berwald's hands resting on the small of his back for a too-long moment; the look of cold, frustrated confusion in Bernie’s eyes and the feeling that there was something the man wanted to say, but couldn't. “I... It's not really a social call,” Tino confesses.

“Well good. These aren't our social hours,” Lovino growls, taking the gun out of his belt to clean it.

Toni can't help smirking at his cute little boss. He slides up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I like it when you play with that thing,” he hisses into Lovi’s ear, his other hand creeping up his thigh and rubbing the inside seam. “Want me to cock your gun?”

One of these days Toni is going to take too many liberties, and Lovi will have no choice but to shoot him. It’ll be a damn shame, too. He elbows Toni in the gut hard enough to make him grunt. “Go cock your own gun. It always fires early.”

“ _Ouch_.” Toni smirks in spite of the jabs.

Feliciano offers Tino a serene smile. “We're always happy to see you! Lovi's just grumpy.” He sits up and holds out a plate of leftover pasta. “Want some? It must be awful to eat hospital food every day.”

Tino smiles bitterly. He knows better than to ask for food and money in the same conversation - which is sad. Feliciano's pasta is always the best. “I was hoping I could talk business with you first. I... Um. We... the clinic is completely out of supplies. I've held us over on some things, but the things we really need we just can't afford.”

Feli pouts a little, setting the pasta aside. It's less fun when they get straight down to business, but he understands. Tino is used to working quickly, and that has saved lives the casino needs - as well as some they would rather see dead. He leans in close to his lover's ear, practically sucking on it. “Luuuddy. What do you think? We could get him lots and lots of blood I bet!”

Ludwig finds himself smiling at his lover, shaking his head as he turns to whisper in Feli's ear. “You handle this negotiation. He's your toy, after all. My wallet is yours.”

Tino squirms again, finally moving toward their table and sitting down. He feels like a sitting duck. But the clinic needs this. They always need this. He's never going to be able to repay the debts he owes La Citta. “What did you make tonight, Feli?” he asks softly. Feli likes conversation. Tino will indulge him, if that's what he wants.

“It's linguini tonight, with some pesto sauce!” Feliciano exclaims. “Really yummy. It's homemade, but it's almost the same recipe we use for Roma's Pasta Shell Company.” He puts a finger to his chin. “I guess it's kind of like running a...charity, eh? There's always something you need and places to go.”

Ludwig blanches. “Ah... Feli, you aren't supposed to call a shell company a Shell Company.”

“But Luddy, what else would we call it? Pasta shells are our specialty!” asks Feli, cocking his head.

Tino ignores the slip, keeping his eyes focused on his friend. Feli has always been there when he needs someone, when he has nowhere else to go. Oh God, he _hates_ this. He hates asking, it makes him feel like he's mooching. “I suppose. It's... It's a charity this city sorely needs.”

“That’s true. We'd miss you if you weren't here,” says Feli. He, Lovi, and Ludwig can afford a hospital. But many of their underlings can't, and there are some injuries the hospital doesn't need to know about. Ludwig has written off the clinic's debt more than once for fishing bullets out of their family. “You need emergency supplies, right? Why'd you run out this time? Was it bloody?” Feli leans forward, hoping for a good story, or at least news of their enemies.

Tino smiles thinly. “Very.” It’s not the first time he’s exchanged information for what they need, doctor-patient confidentiality be damned. “My, ah...” He struggles with the word. “My ex laid into his... Lukas, pretty bad. And the boys from Rainbow had a problem with one of their own going a little crazy. It was bad the other night.”

The bit about the Rainbow Feliciano already knows. Sadik keeps telling them that according to Heracles’ phone, Yao Wang had him on the short list for an execution. Plus, Antonio was disappointed when Francis refused customers and lovers alike in favor of staying with the China Doll. Well, they'll get Yao. Ludwig has plans, and Feliciano has been enjoying every opportunity to play with Yao's lackeys that he can. As for Tino's ex...well, Feli offered to make Mattias smile long ago. Too bad Yao thought the man was too useful to die or rot in prison. “Mattias and Lukas are Yao's, aren't they? You know, I wouldn't have protected him. Then you wouldn't be out of stock.”

“I don't want him _dead_ , I-” Tino cuts himself off, realizing just how bad that sounds. He's already been fielding questions from some of the EMTs who ask if he's considering giving Matt another chance. He doesn't want to defend himself to Feliciano too. “I can't hold on to the bad feelings. I need to help people; it's the only reason I have to live.” Bernie's face, his gorgeous face, comes to the forefront of his mind. He swallows. “If that means healing the one who hurt me, so be it.”

Feli shrugs and cuddles closer to Ludwig. “When people hurt me, I like to find out what they look like on the inside.” He grins. “We're very similar, really. You just like to put the insides back when you're done.”

“T-Thank you.” Swallowing hard, Tino tries to remember that coming from Feliciano, that's a compliment. He turns away, only to find himself staring at Antonio the Spaniard, pressing his boss against the wall. He quickly turns back to Feli, red flushing his cheeks. “I'm sorry, I hate to keep asking. You've cleared my debt to you more than once, and for that I'm grateful,” says Tino.

Feli toys with Ludwig's chest as he thinks things over. Tino may get a better deal than most, but they never write off his debts for free. “I think we can work something out. I like making deals with you. Ehya, Lovi! When's that conference?”

Lovino turns his attention to Tino, though it's a little difficult to look appropriately menacing while Toni is still groping him. “Get off, you're too heavy! Get to work!” Lovino snarls, shoving the Spaniard off him. “The conference is in two weeks,” he reports. “It’s not far, but who are we gonna send with him, _Toni_? He'll probably fuck his way through it.”

“Hey!” Toni exclaims, ignoring his boss’s glare. “I resent that. If you'd come along, I wouldn't _have_ to fuck half the conference.”

Tino clears his throat and tries not to think of Berwald, or the way that his gentle touch brings more heat to Tino’s nerves than the sight of these couples ever could. He changes the subject. “Ah... did I tell you about Feliks? He’s been going through chemo, and his hair is falling out. I hate seeing him so upset.”

Those words bring Feliciano to his feet. Hearing about Feliks, seeing him turn into a shadow of himself, unsettles Feli more than the most gruesome of murders. “Poor Feliks!” he says. “He had such pretty hair. We used to go dancing, and everyone liked to watch him. Toris would get all jealous, but Feliks never...except...” Feliciano shakes his head. Feliks begged him not to ask how he got sick, and Feli respects him enough to leave it at that. He pokes at his boyfriend. “Luddy, we need to do something for him, too!”

Ludwig takes Feliciano into his arms and pulls him back into his lap. He is not fond of Feliks. After the racetrack incident, he nearly killed the little snitch himself. But Feliciano begged him to spare his friend, and Ludwig has never been able to deny his lover anything. Since they learned of Feliks’ cancer, he even found himself promising that they would be there for Feliks and Toris, through the worst of... well. The worst. Nuzzling Feli’s neck affectionately, Ludwig sighs, attempting to come up with something that might please him. Feli and Feliks have always loved to shop… “We could get him hats.”

Feliciano brightens considerably. “That would be fun! We could get everybody to find different hats for him, and I could deliver them with Liza and it will be just like it was before!” He knows Ludwig and Feliks only tolerate one another for his sake. Everyone said it was Feliks' fault that the race track shut down, but it wasn’t! Feliks was never against them, he only loved the horses too much.

Lovino glowers. Dealing with a hard-on, Toni's wandering hands and his brother's sentimentalities in the middle of a meeting is enough to make anyone frustrated. “Enough about your stupid friend!” he shouts. “Are we making a deal or aren't we? Who are we sending with Tino to the conference? Not _me_. I hate those fucking things. Toni would fuck his way through with his cock, I'd use a gun!”

“You're _going_.” Ludwig growls. They need Lovino there, properly armed with his scowl and his gun. They need someone who will make people think twice about fucking with them. “You and Toni. Toni has more charm in a fingernail than you do in your entire body.”

“Like hell!” Lovi flips him off with the stump of his finger. “Wasn't subtlety your master plan? Pretty sure there'll be cops around. You can't blame me if one or five of them end up dead.”

Tino ducks his head, almost hiding himself from the conflict. He decides it’s safer to let Ludwig and Lovino argue, and he continues telling Feliciano about Feliks instead. “He's been having hallucinations. Nothing visual yet, but auditory. It's the meds. He's convinced there's someone living in his closet.”

All the different sides of the conversation meld oddly in Feliciano’s head, triggering flashes of memory or dreams that make little sense. “Children should be seen and not heard,” he says, smiling blankly.

“So if we're loud tonight, you can call us mature tomorrow, yeah?” says Antonio. Winking at the strangeness that is Feliciano, Toni takes Lovino’s scarred hand into his and brings it to his lips. He pries the hand open and kisses the palm. He grazes his teeth over Lovi’s wrist and tries to catch the man’s eyes. “Wanna go be grown-ups?”

A shiver runs all the way from the back of Lovi’s neck to the base of his spine. “You're drunk,” he says. They've all been drinking, but Toni's had three times as much as the rest of them put together.

“Mm-hmm. Don't I deserve to be taken advantage of?” Toni murmurs against Lovi’s skin. As if he doesn't feel cheap enough this week. The world class _whore_ he's given his whole fucking life for, the one he’d destroy himself for... ditched him. Completely blew off his appointment just to play with some Russian virgin, by Sesel's account. He has to forgive Francis for it; it’s the kind of money Toni can’t match. It still hurts to know that all his love, all his passion, _everything_ he’s done for Francis isn’t enough.

Tino coughs. “O-KAY then. So! Hat party! Sounds fun.”

Ludwig’s eye twitches in annoyance, but Feli smiles on, unperturbed by Lovino or the drunken Spaniard. “Aren't there rules about how many people can go into the hospital to visit?” he asks. “Every time I see Feliks I have to be super good about washing up. We can have the party here when he gets better!”

“He's-” Tino cuts himself off, wondering if Feliciano even knows. His heart wrenches, and he looks down again. Toris and Feliks have been very quiet about this whole thing. On the other hand, it's probably the one thing Feli _should_ know. “He's got AIDS, Feli. And cancer. He's... he's not getting better,” he says softly.

“He's - He…” It clicks for Ludwig then, and his entire body goes rigid. He's only ever known one man in this town with HIV.

Feliciano merely blinks. “I know what he has.” He has _not_ , however told Ludwig, or anyone else present, anything more specific than ‘cancer.’ They wouldn’t respect Feliks the way he did. They’d want to know, and he promised Feliks…they _both_ made a promise. He's angry suddenly, pulling off of Ludwig’s lap to stand over Tino. “Feliks will get better! He _promised_!”

The dogs all get up, Blackie barking while the other two growl until Ludwig calls them to heel. Tino flinches and turns pale. Oh God. There goes any chance of gaining a hand-out here. “I'm... I'm sorry, Feli. It just doesn’t look good. It would take a miracle.” He slides to his feet and drops his gaze to the floor. “I…I'm sorry. I'll go.”

“STOP.” Feliciano has a knife in his hand and he cannot remember how it got there. If he didn't like Tino so much the nurse would already be making a mess of the carpet. He grins, petting the blade and forcing Tino to stare at the reflection of his own terrified face. “You want a deal, don't you? You don't leave before the deal is done.”

Tino freezes. Okay. Easy does it, right? He swallows around the lump of fear in his throat and takes a careful step toward the table, hands held up in front of him. “I did not mean to upset you. I'm a nurse. I have to be truthful about these things.”

“I don't want to talk about those things!” Feli shrieks, jamming his knife into the wooden table. The dogs whimper, and even Sadik pops his head in to see if there's trouble. “You're supposed to put people back together!”

For a tense moment the others barely dare to breathe, and Feliciano inhales slowly. Blackie nuzzles his hand and he concentrates on the soft warmth of her fur, the stink of her breath instead of the sterile smell of Tino’s scrubs. “You need money and supplies,” he says after a moment. “We need someone who looks nice to go to the conference. You'll go, won't you?”

“What's the conference, Feli?” Tino asks softly, clasping his hands together and watching Feliciano slowly calm. This is the man who once told him that death was the only form of entertainment that required different performers every time. However, that was when he'd been asking to give Mattias a smile. Despite everything, in his heart Feli is fragile.

“I already said. I said, didn't I Ludwig?” Feliciano replies. He’s honestly not sure if he told Tino about the conference. Sometimes he only says things in his head, or they come out differently than he means. “It's for the Pasta Company. Just that; Ludwig can give you the business information. And we'll send...well. We used to send Heracles. You've gone with him before, haven't you?”

Tino nods his head slowly. “I've gone.” They’ve made this deal before. The conference is really just the most boring business meeting ever annually required. He can live with that if it means money for the clinic. “If you just email me the information, I'll be there.” He smiles gratefully. “Thank you.”

Feli’s good mood is instantly restored. He throws his arms around Tino and hugs him tight - perhaps a little too tight. “I'm so happy! It'll be different this year because of...everything. So it'll be really good for you to go!”

“Y-Yeah...” Tino trails off, considering it. After everything this year, La Citta definitely needs a clean face at the front of their organization. “So, I should just send you a list for the supplies?”

Details are Ludwig's thing, so Feli waves it off. “Sure. We'll work it out, and of course the Good Doctor will receive a lovely donation.” He smirks and offers a hand. A standard part of their negotiation is that Berwald never finds out that Tino has been involved in any of La Citta's more generous donations to his cause.

Tino blushes hotly, reaching out to shake Feli's hand. He kisses his cheek as well before he pulls away. “Thank you. You... I am so grateful.”

“Si, si! We're happy too! It's a good deal, right Luddy?” He pats his boyfriend's knee. “But we do need to send someone with you...oh! SADIK!” It is both an exclamation and a command. The man appears in seconds.

“What?” Sadik asks, gruff.

“You're going to the pasta company conference with Tino. Take care of him, and make sure nothing goes wrong. You can do that, right?” Because if he can't, Feliciano will decide that he's not good for much. He knows that La Citta isn’t the only big name Sadik works for. The man is untrustworthy, but never once has a plan Feli 'slipped' to him made it to the ears of another employer. Sadik is either very smart or very stupid. He's pretty sure it's the first, so it's best to keep him around.

Ludwig frowns. The major thing they need for this conference is someone who won’t make waves. Tino is perfect, but Sadik... “Are you sure?” he whispers into Feli's ear, pressing a hand against his thigh.

Feli nods, making a show of licking up the side of Ludwig's neck and kissing his ear. “Si. He won't talk, he'll look scary, and he never asks questions.”

Tino looks to the masked man, who is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He feels slightly intimidated by the thought of letting Sadik guard him. But he's seen scarier. Hell, he's slept with scarier. “Well. It's nice to meet you.”

Sadik glances over at the little bit of fluff he'll be guarding. The clinic's nurse. Shouldn't be too difficult of a job, unless the man's ex shows up, and even that would be easier than what he's used to. He smirks. “Met you before. You put my shoulder back in the socket; guess you see a lot of that, though.” He shrugs, both shoulders in working order. He and Heracles used to end up on the clinic’s doorstep together, holding up whichever of them came off worse from their spats.

Tino forces a smile, trying to keep himself from fidgeting or hunching his shoulders. He used to have a thing for the big, tough guys. That all changed with Matt. “Sure. But I never said it's nice to meet you, did I?”

Sadik raises an eyebrow. “Don't recall. But this works.” He holds out a hand for Tino to shake.

Feliciano beams, practically bouncing on Ludwig’s lap. “See Luddy? They can work together! So that's all settled, and can you please say "ja" now so we can go have sex?”

Ludwig blinks at this, looking down at his lover with a quirked eyebrow. “Ja.”

“I think that's our cue to leave,” says Tino, dropping Sadik’s hand.

“Or stay. Sometimes it’s hard to tell,” Sadik replies. He guides Tino out into the hall. “Any enemies I should know about? I'd like to be prepared if someone's going to shoot at us.”

“Nah, just some pasta-loving old fuddy-duddies. No one with the balls to shoot you.” Tino grins. He looks back, peering over Sadik's shoulder. Well. It looks like everyone gets along when their clothes are coming off.

Sadik shuts the door and stands in front of it with a smirk. “Come back _real_ soon.” He almost wishes he could keep Tino with him for company, but...no. It’s best not to subject anyone else to the sounds that are likely to follow. “The casino’s packed; you should go out by the Rainbow. Stop in if you want. They like pretty boys like you.”

Tino sighs, letting his smile fall away. “I don't think they want to see me right now. I didn't make a good impression last time I saw Francis. Goodnight, Sadik.” He waves a little and turns away. It’s time to head back to the clinic and pretend he was never here.

+XXX+

With their work done for the night, the dogs relax. Blackie, the oldest of the three, lays down in a corner and rests her head on her paws. Aster and Berlitz go for their toys, chewing on rawhide bones and snapping at one another in play. Their owners begin a very different kind of game. It is a good thing Sadik shut that door; otherwise, every grunt that walked down the hallway would witness a show worth their lives.

Ludwig’s hands work slowly, finding dips and scars and places where barely a touch makes Feliciano squirm. Swallowing a moan, he kisses Feli again, softer this time, and pulls back to breathe. “Missed this. All day, my love.”

Feli kisses him several more times before responding. “We did it just this morning, Luddy! And we woke up late, so you can't have missed it _all_ day.” He tugs Ludwig’s shirt up and over his head and grinds down on his lap, nice and slow.

“Of course I did. You were my every thought. Tell me we have nothing else to do tonight. Nothing but this.” Ludwig is practically begging - God only knows when they will have a free night again. The month is booked with weddings and birthdays and all sorts of conventions to keep track of. Gaining time to get his hands on Feli like this will be a challenge. His mouth moves lower, dragging teeth and tongue over the pulse point beneath Feli’s ear.

“Not unless someone else comes to visit. But Sadik can keep them busy, right?” Feliciano tilts his head, giving Ludwig more skin to taste. His eyes land on his brother, but he is unworried by the force of Toni’s touch. When Lovino gets tired of the game he'll pull his gun out or knee Toni in the balls.

Toni is completely wasted. His hands are wandering aimlessly, and his kisses are sloppy. At this point, Lovino's had enough wine to consider himself drunk or sober, depending on the occasion and who's asking. He goes with drunk, if only to match his bodyguard-lover-thing. Toni really is a fun fuck, maybe because he's learned so many tricks from the Rainbow. He bites down hard on Toni's neck, just below his ear.

“Dios _mio_!” Toni gasps at the bite, jerking away even as his cock practically jumps up and throbs for more. He's going to teach his boss a lesson about playing rough - and if he has to spank it into him, all the better. Grabbing Lovi by the shoulders, he shoves him facedown over the table and pulls Lovi’s pants down to his knees.

Lovino curses a blue streak, bucking against Toni and fighting his hold. “Don't break the table stupido! We’ve already had to replace it twice, and I LIKE this table!”

“Shut up, boss,” Toni commands. A soft growl enters his voice as his mind wanders to the night he asked Francis to play at refusal. But where Francis' resistance was practiced in its beauty and pure fun to break, Lovino's is the kind that can’t be broken. It can only be molded into a different shade of opposition, a more proactive kind. He winds his hands around Lovi’s chest and scratches him, dragging long red marks up to his nipples. Their bodies are pressed so close together, they’d already be fucking if his fly was undone.

The atmosphere at the other end of the couch is far sweeter, although it cannot really be called gentle. Ludwig sucks at Feliciano’s skin as hard as he can, hoping to leave a mark that Feli will explain to everyone, in detail, for the next week. His lips make the quick leap to his ear, and he whispers, “Do you remember the night we spent in Hong Kong?” That memory is sure to make him squirm.

Squirm Feli does, fingers darting over Ludwig's chest. “You looked really pretty with red marks all over. I liked that crop; too bad it broke.” He pinches a nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

“Nt-!” Ludwig cuts off his grunt of pleasure ruthlessly, refusing to let anyone but Feli hear the sounds he makes when he's in need. His head falls back and he closes his eyes, allowing that little twinge of heat to rumble through his nerves. It seems to snap as it hits his cock, and his hips jolt beyond his control, making Feli bounce on his lap. “I found another one,” he growls. “One _I_ like, with rivets that will leave very nice prints on my skin.”

“Is it nice and sturdy?” Feli asks. “I asked at the Rainbow what the best kinds are, but Roderick said most of their guests don't want _that_ much force. They don't want to put so much power in someone else's hands, either.” He rolls his hips, keeping up the pressure between them.

“Mmm...” Ludwig nods, reaching down to pull Feli’s belt loose. He doesn't want to push his hands between their bodies, but he needs to see his lover, needs to feel his cock in his hand. He murmurs low, dragging Feli’s fly down but teasing them both by pulling his hand away. “I'd like to see you use it. I'd like to dig out those toys from last Christmas. Would you like that, liebschen?” He slips his nails over the outline of that long, heavy cock.

“SHIT!” The moment is interrupted by Lovino’s shout. “Fuck, Toni, don't you dare get started back there without any lube.”

Toni doesn't care about lube. He doesn't care about anything right now but getting off. There's a fine ass in front of him; not as pale as the one he touches himself to, a little bigger, a little rounder. However, he wants to fuck _something_ , and if it can't be _that_ ass, it'll be this one. He presses himself flush against Lovi’s body, mimicking his position like a shadow.

“Jesus, you're such a fucking bitch, Lovi,” Toni says. He bites his boss' ear hard, dragging one hand down to press a finger into his hole. “Look at you, open sesame. Who've you been giving it up for, huh? One of your fucking goons?”

Lovi gasps and growls, caught between wanting Toni to hurry the fuck up and wanting to turn around and shoot him. “That _hurts_ , asshole!” he hisses, even though it's got him harder.

Feliciano shakes his head, sliding a hand down Ludwig’s stomach like he means to touch his cock. But after pressing his palm against it once, he slides the hand behind the couch cushions and tosses a bottle of lube at Toni's head. “Play nice, or Luddy will tie you up and you'll just have to sit there until we're done. You're too noisy.”

Groaning softly at the torment, Ludwig reaches up to take hold of Feliciano’s chin and drag him in for a long, deep kiss. He doesn't need to listen to the other two idiots to get turned on. He doesn’t need anyone but Feli. “You know, you haven't...” He pauses to kiss Feli’s mouth again, demanding his full attention. “Fucked me. In a very long time. Almost a week.”

Feli schools his face into an expression of overdramatic pity, the kind he usually reserves for victims he's about to take apart in a particularly gruesome manner. “Poor Luddy. A whole week without me? How terrible! I would have done it on Wednesday, but your puppies kept interrupting.” The corner of his mouth twitches. Those dogs are the only things that will distract Ludwig from a naked Feliciano. He doesn't mind, though, because they make his Luddy smile.

“You should've done it anyway,” Ludwig replies. He kisses Feli over and over again, pulling at the waist of his pants until he can drag them down and expose his cock. He stares down at it for a moment, licking his lower lip. “Why don't you let me be your toy tonight?”

Feli leans back, balancing one hand on Ludwig's knee and combing the other through Ludwig’s hair. “Mmm, but Luddy...” His grip turns hard, and he twists the blonde strands around his fingers to yank his lover’s head forward. “You're always my toy.”

Ludwig laughs, following the pull so he can suck on Feliciano’s earlobe. “I mean upstairs. Remember that night,” his voice goes even lower, “when you strapped me in and rode me? You wouldn't let me go until you came four times.”

Feli turns his head away, just out of Ludwig's reach, and rocks his hips. “Well, you _were_ being bad. I had to punish you, and I had a little too much wine for the knives.” Suddenly, there's metal glinting in his hand. Ludwig has no idea where it came from, only that the blade is pressing against his cheek. “But Toni and Lovi drank it all tonight.”

Ludwig turns his head to kiss the blade, letting it taste blood as it makes a small slit in his lower lip. “Yes they did.” Feli likes knives. Ludwig doesn't mind them, and he'll do anything for his lover. On the other hand, tomorrow will be a long day. Maybe knives aren't the best idea for this evening. “But I was thinking, it wasn't really a punishment. Not to me. Not when I got to watch you come four times, just from riding my cock. Not when I was able to wear your cum all night.”

Feli pouts, but if Luddy doesn't want to play with blood tonight that's okay. He tugs Ludwig’s head back by the hair and kisses his throat with his lips and the flat side of the blade. “I bet I can go for five.”

“Next day off. We'll celebrate,” Ludwig promises, slipping the knife from his lover’s fingers and tossing it to the table within Lovino’s reach, in case he should want to separate Toni from any pieces of his anatomy. Then he picks Feli up and lets him curl around his body like an overgrown cat. “Tonight, I want it the other way around. How many times can you ride my ass?”

“We can find out how many times, but you might not like it tomorrow.” Feliciano smirks. He rests his chin on Ludwig's shoulder, wriggling a little in his arms so that he can feel his cock slide against Ludwig's solid abs. He also takes a moment to observe the other couple and make sure they aren’t going to kill each other. This is the part where Gilbert is supposed to get involved, to appease Antonio, fight him, or fuck them both. But Gilbert isn't here. That makes Feli sad, and he hugs Ludwig tighter as he carries him off to their master suite. The dogs follow; he’ll have to remind Ludwig to lock them out of the bedroom this time.

Lovino gives a nod to his brother. Toni's just drunk, and he knows exactly how to deal with the man. Otherwise he wouldn’t keep employing him. He grabs the bottle of lube from where it fell on the table and tries to shove it into the Spaniard’s face. “You want to know who I fuck, Toni? None of your goddamn business.”

Toni’s tired of this. Tired of men who love men, any men, willing to give them money or cock. Something in him turns violent, and he presses his finger in further, ignoring the way Lovino squirms. “ _Who_?” he demands again. He grabs onto a tuft of Lovi’s hair and pulls his head back, exposing the vein that throbs with his pulse. Something in Toni wants to bite it, wants to feel the rubbery vein snap between his teeth. But that's Lovi, bringing out the beast in him. It's only Francis who brings out the monster.

“Fuck, what does it matter, huh?” Toni says. “I'll bet your slut ass fucks anything I let by. What happens when I'm off? You go downstairs, take that masked fucker to the back room and let him drill you 'til you're screaming for me?”

Anyone else would have three eyes and a missing cock for saying something like that. But since it's Toni, Lovino just laughs. “You kidding? He's not my type. Don't ever fuck someone whose face you've never seen.” He wonders how far he can push Toni, and he's got a pretty good idea of what has him so pissed. “At least I get laid without having to pay for it. Heard Frannie turned you down to fuck one of Ivan’s brats. Guess you’re getting too old and too poor for him.”

Toni snarls, unwilling to give Lovi the satisfaction of pushing buttons no one else dares. “Go ahead. Say his name again. Maybe I'll leave you like this, go see if he's busy.” His words are sharp. Lovino knows Toni has a thing for Francis, more than Toni will ever have for his boss. And hell, does it piss Lovi off.

Toni presses his finger deeper in to Lovi’s ass and shoves the man’s shoulders down on the table with one strong arm. Lovi yelps, pressing his forehead against the table. Jesus, the way he shudders almost has Toni groaning. “You want me to leave?” Toni asks.

“Yeah, get your finger out of my ass until your learn some fucking manners. You think _you're_ the boss or something?” Lovino hisses in reply. He knows Toni won't leave, not now. Toni doesn't go to Francis when he's pissed off, because with Francis he plays nice. Wants to be _lovers_. It makes Lovino sick; Francis is a whore, not a date. He smirks into the wood. “You know who's name Francis was saying just last week? MINE. _Oh Lovino, so sexy, so good, harder, like that!_ ”

“Shut up!” Toni jams his finger against Lovi’s prostate dry. That makes Lovi just about lose his mind, ass clenching, confused by the way the pain and the snap of pleasure combine. Toni shifts his other hand to grip Lovi’s neck, almost hard enough to choke him. “You fucking _bitch_ , it's no wonder your ass is gaping. Do you ever say no? Do you _ever_ resist this?” He forces Lovi’s face into the table, leaning over to hiss into his ear. “You're a bigger whore than he is.”

Ah, fuck. Lovino’s had too much alcohol for this much of a thrashing. It's making him dizzy, and Toni is actually getting angry now. He still wants a fuck, but not like this. He can’t let Toni forget who has the real power here. “Let up, Toni. NOW. What the fuck is the matter with you? I'm teasing!”

Teasing. God, this kid makes Toni’s blood boil. Gritting his teeth, he releases Lovi, his hand sliding off of his neck and pressing into the table. His finger remains inside him, however, and as he catches his breath he tries to sound like none of that got to him. Like he's not half-shaking. “Damn right, you're teasing.” He throws in a laugh for good measure, but his heart's not in it.

“Get off, and I'll let you watch me open it myself,” says Lovino. That's a very rare offer. Too intimate for Lovi’s tastes, but at least he knows he can get the job done right. “Bet you won't be able to last that long.”

“Bet _you_ won't.” Toni smirks, trying to force himself back to _this_ man. Lovi's a good lay. Very good. He should count himself lucky. He pulls his finger out and reaches for the globes of Lovi’s ass, spreading them wide, wishing he could stop thinking about Francis for once in his life. Of course, the task is impossible.

XXX

The bedroom is quiet again. It seems Feli can make it to round five before giving in to exhaustion. Ludwig will be sore tomorrow, but he's gotten quite good at hiding his pain. The cuffs come undone, and he groans as he shakes his hands out, trying to bring the feeling back to his fingertips.

With a happy sigh, Feliciano flops back on the bed. He snuggles up against Ludwig, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex. “Te amo, Luddy,” he whispers.

Ludwig barely has the energy to reply. “Love you too.” He wraps his arms around Feli, half-dragging him closer so that he doesn't have to twist to hold him. It's a very comfortable position that allows him to kiss Feli and use him as a body pillow at the same time.

With his eyes already half-closed, Feliciano allows his mind to wander, as it always does right before he sleeps. Did they let Sadik know he could go home? Did they let the puppies out one more time? Was Tino going to make it home alright? ....what about all those things Tino said?

His mind, of course, latches onto the most painful topic. Feliks is dying. That's what Tino was saying, even if he did not put it so bluntly (Feliciano would not have allowed him to). Feliks is dying; slowly, in pain, in a quiet, sterile hospital with a comatose roommate while his lover is away on _Ivan's_ business. That's not fair. Feli hopes and prays that he will not end his days similarly. He would rather go the way of Gilbert or his grandfather Roma – with glory, meaning, excitement, intrigue. He glances at the bedside table, where one of his knives is out in the open alongside Ludwig’s gun. “Hey Luddy?”

“Hmm?” Ludwig hums against his neck.

“I think I'm going to kill Feliks. Before...you know. I don't like seeing him so sick anymore.” He yawns, shifting into a more comfortable position and relaxing now that he's come up with a solution. “I'll ask him first, but if he says yes I'll let Toris say goodbye, and then it will be over. Maybe with a pillow...” He yawns again. “Nice pillow. All soft. I wonder if he'd like some pasta first...paaastaaa...mmm...”

Ludwig smiles softly and kisses his lover's cheek. Sweet Feli, always thinking of others. He'll bring home some flowers tomorrow, and maybe that will help him feel better. For now Ludwig just holds him, falling into a blissful sleep.


	40. The Car Wash, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rainbow and La Citta host a car wash to benefit the Clinic and Feliks. The Rainbow's workers tease for their tips while tensions rise between Ludwig and Ivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments!

A short lunch-date was all it took to put Feliciano and Elizabeta in full agreement - something had to be done for Feliks, and something had to be done for the Clinic. In the end, they decided to go with the old-fashioned fundraising stand-by: a car wash, stationed on the top floor of La Citta's parking garage and operated by the Rainbow’s scantily-clad employees. After all, sex sells, and Liza sells sex daily. Even Ludwig agreed it was good business all around; if they donated every penny they made, the event would still attract more patrons for the casino and more clients for the Rainbow.

When the day arrives, Ludwig realizes he underestimated just how good business could be. The garage is so full of cars that he's starting to worry about the exhaust fumes. Somehow he’s been manipulated into directing traffic and collecting some of the fees. One of the girls was doing it when he arrived (with every intention of leaving quickly), but after the third time she was almost yanked into a car, he sent the culprits packing and started re-organizing the line. It earned him a very grateful kiss on the cheek, and then she was gone and the bucket for donations was in his hand. Ludwig has a horrible feeling that someone put her up to it. Someone named Lovino, who has managed to make himself scarce. With a grumble, Ludwig waves the next car on.

Kiku and Francis are playing up the crowd on the roof, earning tips like crazy as they get themselves wet and soapy. Francis is almost jealous of the girls' curves; they can rub them up against the windows and get the sponges between their breasts. His flat chest doesn't leave as much to work with. On the other hand, a lot of the boys around here prefer have his flat chest and the cock that goes with it. Quite a number of ladies, too. It's always nice to see a pretty face behind the wheel. He blows a kiss to one young lady through the windshield, loving her blush.

There are so many dollar bills in Kiku’s pockets he's fairly certain that he's already beaten his record for an hour's work. He's added a couple of new clients to his roster, as well. It’s a hot day for this time of the year. It’s perfect for the car wash, but Kiku’s less fond of the sun on his back. He spots Sesel, who is giving out water, and calls her over. “Can I get a little?”

“Just a _little_ Kiku?” Sesel winks and shakes her ass to make the beads on her bikini clatter. They should have thought of this ages ago. She's going to gain a cup size with the amount of money stuffed into her top.

“Maybe more than a little!” Kiku smiles. He leans over the hood of a car and angles his ass up as he rubs suds into the window. He's wearing nothing but cut-offs and a white muscle-shirt, and the amount of times he's been sprayed with a hose has made everything cling like a second skin. The man in the car is already hooked, he can tell. A cute one, too. He wouldn't mind serving that.

Sesel offers Kiku a bottle to drink from and gropes him. “That so now?” She turns toward the man in the car and presses herself up against Kiku’s side. “I bet your friend has more than a little.”

Kiku laughs as he takes the water. “I'd love to find out.” He gropes her ass with his other hand, pulling her tight against his body and giving the man a show to see what he likes. His eyes are floating to Sesel and her curves. Perhaps he should let her hook him - she could use another client.

“Why don't you find out for me?” Kiku slips away, taking the pail of waters from her hand and leaving her to the man in the car. His eyes scan the lot for a viable customer, and he sees Francis covered in soap. That makes him grin. Cracking open a water, he sneaks up behind him and upends it over all the suds.

“Mon Dieu!” Francis yelps, suddenly covered in very cold water. He turns to the perpetrator with a glare, all while the lady in the car laughs. She's got a pretty laugh; sounds like she likes to have fun. “You are cruel, mon ami. It is a good thing this beautiful lady was _inside_ her car.” He pats the hood, well aware that his speedo is slipping halfway down his ass.

Kiku leans up and kisses his nose. “I am a saint. I just gave her a view she will thank God for. Isn't that right?” Winking at the lady, he sneaks a hand down to snap the waistband of Francis’ speedo.

The girl is practically drooling. Well, that works for Francis. He whips his head around, sending a rain from his hair into Kiku's face. He saunters around to the side of the car, wiping down her mirror as he leans in the window. “Well my dear, we're all clean now. A shame, really. I quite enjoy being dirty.”

Watching Francis pick up this pretty little thing is like watching a cat stalk a mouse. But she's an adorable little mouse. Kiku smacks Francis’ ass hard enough to make him jolt, then moves down the line of cars. His smile widens when he sees Ivan the Terrible in his sleek black sedan. It looks like the Braginski crew has six more cars lined up, too. Kiku refuses to think of Ivan and his brother. Steadfastly refuses, because Ivan pays good money and tips graciously for a job well done. “Good afternoon, Mr. Braginski,” he says, leaning into his window.

“Afternoon.” Ivan nods to him, easing back into his expensive leather seats. His cars are all quite clean. He makes sure they are sent to an expert for detailing every other week. That way there are no suspicions; or at least, if called to court he can say that he's not washing out blood, he just likes clean cars. This, however, is a special occasion.

“Hi, Eddie.” Kiku grins and reaches across Ivan to the passenger side so he can stroke a finger down Eduard’s cheek. Oh, look at that blush! He barely manages to yank his gaze back to Ivan. “Your son is _talented_ , Mr. Braginski. You should be proud.”

Eduard makes a choked noise, going crimson. Though honestly, the strangest part of his birthday was coming home the next day to find his aunts and Raivis having a video game tournament. Unfortunately all he received from Raivis was a glare – much like the one he’s wearing now. “Um...”

Raivis keeps his arms crossed and his head down. He _told_ Ivan he didn't want to come. He begged, pleaded, even locked the door to his room in Ivan's face. The man just broke the lock and dragged him out. Now here he is, watching this fucking Chinese whore praise Eddie's prowess. With another venomous scowl at Eddie, he hunkers down in the backseat and refuses to say a word.

Kiku laughs, waltzing around the car to Eddie's window. “Are you coming back to see me anytime soon?” He takes the boy’s chin in hand and pulls him a little so that he can whisper hot and heavy into his ear. “I have time…”

“EDDIE!” There’s a shouts, and Kiku suddenly finds himself pushed out of the way. Francis landed his last client with ease, and when he turned to see Kiku leaning into Ivan's car, he just couldn’t help himself. He grins at Eduard. “Cheri! So lovely to see you - and you too, Monsiuer Ivan! We have not had the _pleasure_ of your company for some time.”

Kiku shoves Francis back, glaring at him good-naturedly. “Frannie! I was trying to talk Eddie here into coming to see _me_. Be patient!” He turns back to Eduard. “As I was saying...”

Eduard doesn't think he can turn any redder. He sinks further down into the seat; now he'll never hear the end of this. On the bright side, he _has_ become rather popular at school with all the rumors. He was grateful that Emil only raised his eyebrows when someone mentioned it at lunch, remaining silent and apparently unmoved. “T-thanks. But, um, I'm...I'm good. On my own. Not that I...I mean...um...”

Sesel, Gupta, and a few others appear by Ivan’s window, trying to attract the attention of those within. Ivan pays _very_ well, and they’ve all heard about Eduard from Francis and Kiku. Sesel props her breasts up on the edge of the window, while Gupta makes barely-audible suggestions about the kind of kinks most of the others aren’t willing to touch.

“Are any of you gonna actually _wash_ our stupid car?!” Raivis hisses.

Ivan leans over to ruffle Eddie's hair. However, he has not come here for the Rainbow’s workers. He is here to showcase his strength, and also because he legitimately cares about helping the clinic and Toris’ boyfriend. He owes several lives to the Good Doctor, and one panicked late-night visit with Eduard when he was a child covered in red bumps. How was he to know the chicken pox were not deadly?

Ludwig frowns as the whores congregate around one car: Ivan Braginski's. Gritting his teeth, he heads over. “Shouldn't you all be _working_ on this pile-up?” He growls, and most of them scatter. Only Francis and Kiku remain as he approaches the driver’s window, collection box under his arm. “Ivan. Seven cars, seventy dollars.”

Ivan keeps his smile in place, but it takes on a decidedly nasty character. “Not to you. Unless you've joined the Rainbow? I am not sure you are worth so very much.”

Ludwig glares right back, holding out the box as though he'd rather chance Ivan stealing the cash than let their skin actually touch. “I am collecting the fees. If you would kindly pay up, I will allow the whores to begin washing your cars.”

“We resent that! We are very high-class _escorts_ ,” Francis says with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. The last thing they need is a gang war in the middle of their event. He goes around to the driver’s side and slings an arm around Ludwig. “Can we not be friends, comrades? Together!”

Ludwig snarls and pushes Francis hard enough to make him stumble. He's had no love for this "escort" since he found out Gilbert convinced Feliciano to try him out while Ludwig was away last year. “I'd rather make friends with his corpse.”

Natalia has been watching carefully from the car behind Ivan's. Things are getting ugly, and she does not like it. She gets out of the car and twirls a knife between her fingers. “Is there a problem?”

“Pay, or go,” says Ludwig, keeping his cold gaze on Ivan alone.

Francis stands back, giving Kiku a worried glance. This could go very, very badly if one of them makes the wrong move. He tries again to diffuse the situation, this time focusing on Ivan. “Please, it is for the Clinic. We all owe them a little something, mm?”

Ivan sneers at the German. “Why so serious, comrade? You are surrounded by beauties, all willing to suck you off for a little price. ...or was that your brother's job?” That's a dangerous thing to say. He gets out his wallet at the same time as Natalia prepares her knife, in case he’s finally managed to dent Ludwig’s famed self-control.

Ludwig stiffens, clutching the box with enough force to bend steel. But he accepts the offered money - seven _hundred_ dollars - and steps back without another word. He's not going to kill the scum in broad daylight, surrounded by Braginski associates and civilians. He turns on his heel and proceeds down the line.

Natalia leans into Ivan’s window, whispering in his ear with as much seduction as any of the Rainbow’s girls. “Do you want me to kill him, brother?”

Ivan pales a little, mostly because her fingers are going places they shouldn't. It is a good thing she is not heard. “Not today.” He gently pushes her back and pats her hands. “Have a good time, Natalia! Maybe you will find someone who catches your eye.”

Kiku leaves Francis to clean Ivan's car, a little perturbed by the interaction between Ivan and Ludwig. He doesn't like the way they were eyeing each other - or the way Raivis was glaring at him from the back. Then he sees a familiar tan Ford pulling up behind Ivan's posse and smiles.

“Holly!” he calls to the man getting out of the car, waving a little in welcome. He reaches for a fresh bucket of soapy water and makes his way over. Holly looks better than he did last the time anyone heard from him, but not good enough to be called 'happy'.

Holly has spent the week sleepless and drugged out, trying to forget a pair of blue eyes. It hasn't worked. Honestly, if he hadn't gotten out of the apartment today, he might never have left. “Afternoon, pretty boy.” He kisses Kiku's cheek and smiles down at him. He's always had a fondness for Kiku, despite Kiku’s well-known stance against drugs (not to mention the drug lord). However, they are friends and not lovers. He's here to find his usual Rainbow flavor - the one that helps him forget. “Is Francis around?”

Kiku looks over his shoulder where Francis is working on Ivan's car. He’s wary of letting Holly talk to him now that Francis is finally clean. “A little busy. Want to make an appointment?”

“Yeah...” Holly trails off, looking Kiku and his wet clothes up and down. The sight makes his stomach tighten in a hard knot. He's always liked them cute. Look at him all wet, his nipples pert and tight, his shorts painted on, with dark hair and dark eyes that hold no reminders for Holly... If there's something that can make him forget Mattie, perhaps it's right in front of him. “Actually, is there a time when you're both free?”

A small smile plays at the corners of Kiku’s lips, and he raises his eyebrows. “Why, Holly, I don't think you've ever asked me to dance before.” He goes through his mental date book and then frowns. “Actually... let me figure something out. I'll book you with Francis on Thursday though; he's got an hour available that morning. You're free, right?”

Holly smiles and affectionately ruffles Kiku's wet hair. “I'm always free mornings.”

Meanwhile, Alfred has been waiting in line for over an hour. Everyone told him this was _the_ place to be today. So many big players were going, he'd be stupid if he didn't use the chance to mingle. Driving his half-dead Buick is practically sex-repellant, however, so he found himself waiting a very, very long time. He’s only just been waved through to the roof where the actual washing is taking place, where he finds himself…waiting. Again. At least the view is infinitely better up here. A hot girl in a bikini walks by with water bottles, so he steps out of the car to get her attention. “Hey - _Hey_ , how much for a water bottle?”

Sesel smiles brightly, swaying her hips. “For you, sweetheart? Maybe I'll give a discount.” She gives him a wink and a laugh, then holds out a bottle. “The water is free with a donation; didn't want anyone passing out today. Of course, then we would have the opportunity for some mouth-to-mouth.”

Alfred blushes, patting himself down and pulling out his wallet. Girls aren't his usual thing, but this one is _hot_. And she's flouncing around in a bikini top stuffed with money. “Um... Um...” he shows her a few dollars and his brightest smile. “This work?”

“Sure will.” Sesel presses the cool bottle against his thigh in a way that cools him down and heats him up at the same time. She tucks the money into her top. She's going to have to find Roderick soon; he's the one taking care of appointments and managing funds. First, she wants to see if this cutie is interested in more than a water bottle. She raises an eyebrow at the car, but smiles anyway; at least he isn’t desperately trying to compensate, which is more than a lot of her customers can say. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before; I’d remember those eyes if I had.”

“Well, I don't get around much,” Alfred says. That has to be the worst lie he's told all day. Alfred touches the hand rubbing the bottle up his thigh. Pretty as she is, his eyes slide beyond the girl in search of the suspects he’s supposed to be looking out for, or better yet, the beautiful blonde who’s been haunting his favorite dreams. He forces his eyes back to Sesel. “I heard this was the place to be today. I guess somebody's been underselling.” Laughing, he slips the bottle from her fingers and cracks it open, taking a long swallow.

That brief distraction was all Sesel needed to know any more effort is a waste of her time. She won't be making a sale here, but the boys might. “You should come around more often. We'd love to see more of you.” With one more smile, she saunters off, determined to find Roderick before the bikini falls off.

Alfred wipes his lips, taking a slower look around at the crowd. His contact was right: this place is crawling with the big players and the best playthings. There's the China Doll, soaping up that bastard Holly's car. Ahead is Ivan, his new best friend, hanging with his family while a man in a speedo shines his bumper. Then the man turns, and Alfred forgets how to breathe. “Francis,” he whispers.


	41. The Car Wash, Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis and Alfred finally meet again and indulge in a little "backseat driving," while Kiku handles far less pleasurable business of his own. In the lower garage, Roderick and Vosh continue to balance on a fine line between professional and personal - and Elizabeta is not helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for the comments and kudos! We read every comment; they help us know what you like and what's confusing, so they not only make us happy, they make the story better too!
> 
> **WARNING:** This chapter contains explicit sex. If you'd prefer not to read it, stop when you reach the first section break marked ---, and rejoin us after second section break marked ---. We are using different markers than usual to show that there is no time or space jump between these sections.
> 
> As always, an M rated version is available on Fanfiction.net.

“Kiku darling!”

Kiku looks up from Holly’s windshield, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Grell is waving a red-trimmed hankie out the window of one of Yao’s monstrous cars, with Sebastian in the driver’s seat. He supposes he should be grateful that Yao himself did not show up. Francis made good on his promise to turn the entire Rainbow against him, and Ludwig would not welcome Yao either. Breathing out slow and half-annoyed, Kiku straightens and wrings out his shirt. “I'll be right back,” he tells Holly, then heads for the car. He leans on the window and glares at Grell and Sebastian. “What?”

Sebastian sighs as he puts the car in park and turns the key. Kiku is not happy to see them, of course, but he'll have to suck it up. Whatever Yao wants, Yao gets. Yao wants information, and they all know this is the least painful way to get it. “Mr. Wang sends his regards, and would like to know why you have not confirmed any of his appointments for the last week.”

Kiku narrows his eyes. “Because I don't have time, and I'm not clearing my schedule for him anymore.” He straightens and steps back from the car. “If Yao wants a whore, he can pick someone else. Or better yet, find someone willing to sleep with him for free. If such a thing exists.”

Grell laughs. “He's already got big bad Ivan to fuck. Oh! Are you jealous? Is that what this is?”

A nasty smirk twists Kiku’s lips, and he flicks suds at Grell. “Sure. You go ahead and tell him that I'm jealous.” He turns on his heel, heading back towards Holly's car. Then he sees a car full of some of their nastiest ex-customers pull up in front of Francis. Shit.

At least two of the men have been banned from the Rainbow permanently for violent abuse – both incidents occurring against Francis himself. They've got money in their hands, however, and he puts on a smile. They whistle and jeer at him; Francis doesn’t mind until they get out of the car while he's leaning over to work on the tires. He straightens as soon as he hears the doors open, but they pin him to the car before he can turn around. “Did you want to help, gentlemen?”

The first smirks, pressing his knuckles against Francis' cheek. “Oh sure. Get in the car, and we'll give you all the help you can handle.”

Alfred spots the problem at the same time as Kiku does: three guys, all of whom look like they could use a bath in bleach. And they're all gathered around Francis like he's their latest prize. His fists curl and he starts moving toward the thugs, preparing to fight if he must.

“Look at you, all soaped up.” The second man smirks, reaching down to tug at the waist of Francis’ speedo. “How 'bout we get these wet clothes off, huh?”

“You are not welcome in my company, or with any of my coworkers. Your car is the only thing I'll touch,” Francis replies. He jerks a little, testing their grip. The first man is holding his arm behind his back, the second is tugging on his swimsuit and groping his chest, and the third is pulling his hair and wrapping a hand around his neck. It is only this last touch that sends a real jolt of fear through Francis. He swallows, but stands firm. “Let go.”

The third man laughs, pressing his fingers into the scar on that pretty neck. Everyone wonders who gave it to Francis; he wants to leave a mark of his own. Something permanent, something he’ll never forget. He tugs hard on Francis’ hair so he can bite down on his ear.

Alfred sees the move and the threat behind it, and something in him snaps. “Hey!” he shouts, breaking into a run.

The men ignore him, and the one with his hand on Francis’ throat sneers into his ear. “How can a _whore_ say no?”

_That_ line makes Francis angry. His eyes narrow. “Like this: NO. Non. Nyet. Never. Let go. I do not want to. I am not going to let you touch me. Stop, desist, arretez-le, get your fucking hands off me you bastards!” He shoves his elbow back into first man’s crotch, snaps his head back against the third’s nose, and punches the second before he even has time to get his hand out of Francis’ speedo.

By the time Alfred reaches Francis, all three of the thugs are down for the count, and the beauty is brushing himself off as though he's just gone for a brisk run instead of thrown down three much bigger men. He skids to a stop, half-amazed, half-amused. He's immediately passed by Kiku and several of La Citta’s suited goons. The suits proceed to sweep the men off the ground and carry them from the garage as if they're nothing more than particularly heavy trash bags.

Francis cannot stop the shudder that runs down his spine. Kiku puts a hand on his shoulder, and he squeezes it for a moment, then smiles. “I am alright. Those three are idiots; as if they could get away with a thing like that here.” It's almost sad to consider what will happen to the men in La Citta’s tender care. The moment Antonio or Feliciano hear about what happened- His gaze lands on a familiar face, and all other thought freezes. “Ange...”

Alfred catches Francis’ eye and holds it, smile growing at the way the man’s face lights up. God, he's pretty; like something out of a magazine, but all the more beautiful because he’s real. Alfred stuffs his hands into his pockets and steps closer, ducking his head a little in a sign of peace. “You look... Better.” _Better than better_ , his mind supplies.

“We _must_ stop meeting this way, mon ange.” Francis says it with a smile, but he really would prefer not to be molested every time he meets his angels.

Kiku raises his eyebrows, then shakes his head. “I’ll get back to work. Don’t forget to wash the man’s _car_ , Frannie.” He gives Francis’ shoulder another pat and returns to Holly.

“Of course,” says Francis, though he’s not entirely sure what Kiku just said. His eyes only stray from Alfred to look behind him for his second angel. “Where is your friend, then? I still have his coat.”

Alfred’s jaw hardens a little. He hasn't spoken to Mattie all week; hasn't taken his calls, hasn't even said hello when he passed him in the hallway at the station. He doesn't want to talk to him. Alfred doesn't even know what he's most angry about: that Mattie was fucking a drug dealer, that he compromised their entire team, or... Well. Those are the only reasons he has, right? “Home. This isn't his scene.”

_Ah. They've argued_ , Francis thinks. That makes him sad; he could tell from the beginning that Alfred and Matthew were _good_ people, and it’s so hard to come by one of those, let alone a pair. Good people like that need to hold tight to one another, and not the likes of Francis, to keep from losing themselves. Still, Francis cannot stop himself from kissing Alfred’s hand. “A shame. I am glad to see you, however. Alfred.”

Alfred blinks at his name and meets Francis’ eyes, almost sinking into them because they make him go breathless. He doesn't think he's ever seen eyes that beautiful. “Glad to see you too, Francis.” He grins. “So you've been checking up on me?”

What a smile! It lights Alfred up like the sun, and Francis finds himself smiling too. “Oh, on and off. I wanted to find you again. You seem to be a charm, after all, appearing whenever there are less savory figures about. But ange, why are you here today?”

Alfred cocks his head to the side, trying to decide how to answer that. He wanted to mingle with the bad set, see if he could find out anything about the shootings. But mostly... “On the off-chance you'd be here. The Rainbow is hosting this thing alongside La Citta, after all. I figured, you know. Pretty good bet.” He laughs, grasping the hand that's still holding onto his own.

Many people give Francis compliments, but he is honestly flattered by this one. He kisses Alfred’s hand again, bringing each knuckle against his lips in succession. “That makes me very happy. I have thought of you often.” Arthur told him where to find his angels, and who they really are. It’s dangerous information for everyone involved, and that is why he has never sought Alfred or Matthew himself.

“Me too,” Alfred confesses, lacing their fingers together. He draws Francis back toward his car, wanting to take him away from the scene he just witnessed. He wants to talk to this man, to know him. He doesn't care if he has to pay for it. Well... Okay. He probably can't afford Francis _and_ rent. But he'll take a conversation; if he never gets to do more than touch Francis’ hand and hear his voice, he’ll still be a happy man. “I think about you all the time. Though seeing you wet is making me really regret not imagining anything involving water.”

Francis follows gladly and laughs. “Oh mon cher, imagine whatever you like. I assure you there is very little that is impossible over the Rainbow.” He winks, and opens the door to Alfred’s back seat so they can slide in together. He shouldn't be doing this. He should be washing cars, earning donations, and making appointments. But it's his _ange_. Surely Eliza will understand.

Alfred knows he shouldn't be here either, with a prostitute in the backseat of his Buick. At least a prostitute is a step up from a drug dealer, and Francis…Francis is something else entirely. He reaches to tuck a long strand of wet blonde hair behind Francis’ ear, curling it around his fingers for a second as drops of water fall between them. “I wasn't thinking about the Rainbow. Just you.”

Alfred is sweet; even sweeter than Francis remembers, and almost as sweet as his dreams. “I am afraid I am getting water all over your car - and not on the outside!” he says.

Alfred smiles, leaning into Francis as he feels him lean back. It's like their bodies are calling for each other. Chemistry. Easing his touch from Francis’ hair to his cheek, Alfred cocks his head to the side and murmurs low and soft against his lips. “It's seen worse.”

“Has it now?” Francis is so used to seducing men he begins to charm his angel without thinking about it: a brush of his lips against Alfred’s, a hand sliding to his leg. Perhaps he should tone it down. Francis really likes Alfred, and he wants to know him as someone other than a customer. But it's like he has no other way to behave anymore; he doesn’t remember how. That's a desperately sad thought, and he does not want to be sad. He presses his lips to Alfred’s, and the sadness fades away.

Francis closes in before Alfred can stop him, before he can tell him that he can't afford to pay. The kiss steals the words from his mouth. It's just a kiss, but it's certainly not a normal one. Francis tastes fresh and sweet, like the nectar of the gods. If every kiss with Francis is like this, it's no wonder the man is so popular. Alfred can't help sinking into it, pulling the man with him as he lays back across the seat. He drags his hands over Francis’ chest, and it is only when they part for air that Alfred manages to push him back. “Wait - wait!”

Francis sits back immediately, surprised. “What is wrong?” Then again, they _are_ in a car, in the middle of a public lot, surrounded by people with guns. Reservations are understandable.

Alfred almost blushes, and he cannot make himself look Francis in the eye. “Nothing. I mean, I'd like to... you know. But I can't...” _'Afford you'._ He leaves it unsaid, afraid to offend him. He doesn't want this to be a business arrangement. He wants _far_ more than that, as impossible as it seems. There’s also the thought of Mattie in bed with that fucking drug dealer; bedding a hooker in the back seat of his car wouldn’t exactly help his case. If he were to pay for sex his guilt alone would eat him alive, even if no one else found out - he's a cop, for Christ's sake!

They should stop right here. They should continue with their days, and perhaps talk some other time. But Francis has spent too long searching for his angels, and he is not about to give one up now. He's made enough appointments to get him through the next month and then some; a little indulgence won’t hurt. He kisses Alfred again. “Do not fear, mon ange. I _can_.”

\---

The second kiss takes Alfred’s breath, and he releases the last of his doubts. Mattie can keep the dealer if he can have Francis. His hands move lower, sliding down Francis' wet shoulder blades and digging in as their legs tangle together. He can already feel Francis hard against his thigh. He lets out a soft, aching sound and presses his leg up against him.

Kissing this boy is like sipping a particularly fine wine. Francis wants to take his time, to savor every nuance, but he can't. This will have to be quick - and _quiet_. Liza told them not to work today; at least, not like this. “Ange, normally I would encourage you to be as loud as you wish, but today we must play a game of silence. The Madam will be most displeased if she finds us now.” He kisses that sweet mouth again while his hands reach down between them to open Alfred’s belt. “Tell me what you've been dreaming. Whisper it in my ear.”

Alfred finds himself pressed tight against Francis, sweat and cool water bleeding through his t-shirt to soak his skin. He wishes they could remove everything, wishes he could do this right. On the other hand, he can't deny the thrill of doing this here. His hands slide down to scrunch Francis' wet speedo, and he clings to him as Francis unbuttons his fly. “I wish I could, but I don't remember them anymore. You're here. This is a dream.”

Francis kisses his neck, nipping gently. There will be no marks from this encounter - none that are visible, anyway. He slips deft fingers into Alfred's pants, following the trail of curls to the base of his cock. “Perhaps. But if it is, I hope I remember it when I wake.”

“Shit-!” Alfred gasps, then bites into his lower lip. The graze of teeth hits a sensitive spot on his neck just as Francis’ fingers brush against his cock. His hips jolt up so that his cock presses between them, rolling stiff against Francis' stomach. “Sto- Oh _God_ , Stop!” He needs to breathe for a second before he can retaliate.

Again, Francis stops instantly. His hand falls to safer territory on Alfred’s stomach, gently petting. “Are you alright?”

“My- my neck...” Alfred whispers, turning redder by the second. “If you want to end this fast, just keep doing _that_.” Offering him a half-sheepish grin, Alfred moves one hand to touch Francis’ chest. He takes a nipple between two fingers and tugs. His other hand wanders lower, relishing the tension he can feel, the quivering of Francis’ stomach.

Francis licks Alfred's neck and savors the salt against his tongue. “Good to know. But what else should I do?”

“The question is, what can I do for you?” Alfred growls, his stomach flip-flopping and his hips arching up. He strokes Francis’ pelvic bone, then drags the waist of his speedo down to uncover his cock.

Now there is something Francis does not hear often. He keeps kissing that neck as he finally wraps his hand around Alfred's cock and gives it a heavy stroke. “Whatever you would like. I am not very picky. I like hands, I like mouths, teeth, tongue, fingers...though I admit I am particularly fond of _this_.” Another stroke.

A moan bursts from Alfred’s lips before he can stop it. Head falling back, he bites his lower lip and closes his eyes, trying to regain a little sense before he reaches for Francis' cock. God, if only they had the time, he could take him so many different ways.

“Trust me, he's fond of you too.” Alfred manages to laugh, leaning up to kiss Francis’ mouth as they work their cocks together, every stroke tightening the pit of his stomach until he can no longer contain his noises, no longer control the way he squirms. He would feel bad if Francis wasn't just as guilty.

Francis kisses him just to block the sounds they're both making. He wishes they could be louder, that they had more time and more space. But if this is all they have, he will let it hold him over until next time. Yes, _next time_. There will be one, of that he is sure. Perhaps he can fix whatever has made Alfred so sad; put the angels back together, where he feels they belong. He pushes Alfred's hand aside and takes them both between his own, pressing their cocks together.

Alfred clings to the man's shoulders, shuddering as he nears his completion. “Please - God, please, let me come! _Fuck_ , you feel amazing-!” He hisses it all against Francis’ ear, hips pumping erratically into his hand until finally he breaks, seeing white and color and feeling electricity shatter every nerve he has.

Francis wants to hear more of that, and much louder. He's biting his lip just to keep his own voice down, twisting his hands around both of them. He feels near to bursting, so he grabs a rag he’d been using to wash the cars and pulls it over them, hoping to save them some mess. Then he kisses Alfred like he's drowning, and rubs his thumb _just_ so...

Alfred thought he was already over the deep end, yet that touch breaks him all over again. He spurts into rag, shuddering and spasming. He doesn't think anyone else could get him off like this, with just a hand. “ _Fuck_.”

\---

“You are so beautiful.” Francis pants against Alfred’s neck. He means it, too; he pulls away just so he can see the blissful smile over Alfred’s face, the bright light of his eyes, and the heaving of his slick chest. The mere presence of Alfred overwhelms him, like a thunderbolt to his heart. Francis may fall in love easily, but he falls hard. “I want to see you again. Come visit me?”

Alfred hesitates. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he's a cop playing a game he’s only beginning to understand. “Would that be okay?” he asks softly, reaching up to touch Francis’ face, examine his eyes. They make everything in him twist and lock like the gears in a watch. “I mean... A guy like me walks into the Rainbow and your colleagues will notice.”

Francis knows that Alfred is a cop. He is also fairly certain that no one else at the Rainbow does, since that particular bit of information came up when he had his mouth around Arthur's cock. It is also increasingly clear to him that Arthur has not been so forthcoming with Alfred about Francis; the boy is trying so hard not to blow his cover, and he seems to know little about Francis besides his occupation. That is probably for the best. He smiles gently and strokes Alfred’s cheek. “We see 'guys like you' every day. Mr. Braginski’s associates visit very often.” He forces himself to pull away then, and cleans them with the rag as best he can. “Besides, the Rainbow is not some horrid place where they keep us locked away. I may see whoever I wish.”

Well, that's a relief on many levels. Grinning wide, Alfred reaches out to touch Francis’ cheek and draw him close so that they're a breath away from kissing. “Well then. Your wish is my command.” Kissing Francis’ chin, he climbs out of the car and helps Francis out behind him. “So, when can I...” He trails off as he realizes everyone is kind of staring at them.

With an easy laugh Francis pushes Alfred behind him and back into the car, flicking wet hair over his shoulder. “You are right, cheri! Your back seat was very much in need of detailing. I have done what I can, but, alas! Perhaps you need a better mechanic.”

Kiku raises an eyebrow at the pair who were rocking that Buick only moments ago, then clears his throat and steps forward, arms crossed tight over his chest. “Francis? A word?” He thinks everyone would probably like a word with Francis at this point.

“Just one? Alright then.” Francis grins. He can't help it; he hasn't felt this good in a long time. He blows Alfred a kiss goodbye, then saunters over to Kiku.

Kiku finds himself smirking a little and shaking his head. He reaches out to pull up Francis’ speedo as he speaks. “You should know, while you were... inspecting that boy's backseat, several people asked after you. Really, Francis, haven't we told you you're too popular to disappear on the job?”

“Which one of those was the word you wanted?” Francis teases, throwing an arm around his friend. “Let them ask; that's good for business, non?”

Kiku leans up into his face, scrunching his nose. “You're incorrigible. I was going to open that door and drag you out, but I know how much you value your privacy.” He pulls away and begins heading back to the car he was working on. “Holly made an appointment with you,” he adds quietly.

That shakes Francis a little. Holly is - _was_ his dealer. He’s a good man and a good friend, as far as dealers go, but their relationship has always been complicated by business. Francis is trying hard this time – _really_ trying – to stay clean, and a visit with Holly is going to be difficult. He takes a breath and follows Kiku, joining him at the same car. “I have not seen him for some time. It will be good to know he is alright.”

“He didn't look alright,” Kiku replies. It’s more fun working with someone, and the car's owner is a regular who loves to see them both. He leans into the window and kisses the man's cheek. “Juan. So good to see you.” Then he moves back to where Francis is working on the windshield. “He told me he got knocked around; wouldn't say who. But that wasn't the half. I think he was seeing someone.”

Francis raises an eyebrow at that, as subtly as he can. Juan doesn't speak much English, at least. “Really? Are you sure he was not simply taking the time to recuperate with his sister? Perhaps they have argued; she does not always approve of his work, and he does not always approve of her lifestyle.”

“Certain as I can be without a name.” Kiku smiles and takes Francis' chin in hand, drawing him close as if they are about to kiss for Juan's benefit. His voice takes on a seductive tone, so that the man will think they are discussing something very different. “He told me there was someone he wanted to forget. Some _one_. And when I asked, he took it back. Said he meant some _thing_.”

“Very curious,” Francis whispers against Kiku's lips. “I will see what I can do. Perhaps nothing; Holly is not one to want help. Well, _advice_. I will certainly _help_ him by whatever means I can.” His smirk widens then, and he draws back. “Oh, Kiku. You have suds in your hair. Let me help.” He grabs the bucket off of the floor and dumps it over him.

Kiku gasps, jumping back as the cold water hits him with a shock. That's the fifth time today! “Francis!” he yells, twisting his wet rag and chasing after him with it, intending to use it as a whip.

XXX

Vosh rolls up to the garage in his Toyota. It's a model he’s had for nearly ten years now, and not one of the patrol vehicles, but he still gets quite a few stares from those who recognize him. He scowls at them all, especially the ones who are his officers. Who are they to judge? This event is not illegal, even if it is probably playing host to a lot of side-deals and questionable individuals. All the more reason for him to make an appearance. He has his gun on the seat next to him, ready for anyone who might try something stupid; they don't scare him. However, the man who is taking donations at the front table does, and he very nearly turns around.

It has been a taxing day for Roderick in this heat, all this sitting around, fanning himself and collecting money. Even in the relative shade of the parking lot’s lower floors he feels like he’s melting, and it’s boring now that the traffic has slowed. But the sight of Vosh pulling up in his modest little sedan makes it all worthwhile. He smiles and leans over the table. “Good afternoon, Chief!”

_Damnit. Spotted._ Vosh thinks. “Afternoon. Some of my officers told me there was an event today, involving that very nice...charity. Would you be accepting donations?”

“I am.” Roderick’s smile is wolfish. He's been watching everyone else make dates all day, and he wants one of his own. “It's ten dollars to get your car washed, and of course you may tip your washer. We're also selling refreshments.” He raises his glass. “Would you like some lemonade? Just a donation will do. Anything you'd like to give.”

Vosh may keep a tight grip on his wallet, but he believes in giving help where it is needed and deserved. Of course he knows that Berwald Oxenstierna’s charity is not what it says on all the papers, but it is one thing he feels no guilt for overlooking. This city needs healers, and he’s seen for himself that Mr. Oxenstierna is still a true doctor at heart. He pulls out a fifty. “Why not? It's for a good cause. Which is why I'm here. To help.” It's not like he was hoping Roderick would be here.

“I don't doubt it. Thank you, _very_ much,” says Roderick. He takes the money and tucks it into his donation box before reaching into the cooler beneath the table and pulling out a pitcher of lemonade. He fills a tall highball glass with the stuff. La Citta donated them to make the event feel more... classy. He leans into the window, handing the glass to Vosh and running cool fingers over his cheek. “It's sweet of you to stop by,” he adds, though he knows Vosh will not like it. “I'm glad to see you.”

Pink rises to Vosh’s cheeks, and he has to put the lemonade into a cup holder quickly to keep from spilling it. “Well. Good. I mean it's a good cause, not that...well, I am glad to see you as well. Or rather, that you are well.” Oh hell. He's _never_ this flustered. It's just this man! Roderick has gotten into his head and refuses to leave. He's plagued by dreams that leave him incredibly embarrassed.

It's so adorable, seeing Vosh be the flustered one for once. Smiling softly, Roderick lets his hand fall to Vosh’s shoulder and cocks his head to the side. “I am well, thank you. I don't suppose you'd like to go for a drive once your car is clean...?”

Vosh starts, automatically brushing the fingers away. Too close. The man is _much_ too close for his comfort. “Can't. I have work to do, and my car is plenty clean, thank you. I just wanted to leave a donation.”

Roderick finds himself pouting a little, but relents and steps back from the car with a sigh. “Pity.”

Vosh blushes again. He _did_ come here to take a look around, see if he could catch any leads. So what if he'll be surrounded by a lot of wet, good-looking men and women? He is perfectly capable of ignoring them. It's only this one who gets under his skin. “Well...I suppose I should drive through anyway. For a good cause and all.” He barely waits for Roderick to wave him on before driving up the twisting ramp to the roof.

Two hands land on Roderick’s shoulders. “Anything we should be worried about, love?”

“What?” Roderick jerks his head up to find his wife standing right behind him. Ah. Liza must be worried about Vosh. Perhaps he should've informed her that the man was not exactly a threat at the moment. “Oh. No, he's just here to have his car washed.”

Liza smirks. “I'll bet. And you're just _dying_ to go up there and give him a thorough cleaning, aren't you?” She has been watching the entirety of this exchange from a shadowed parking space. At first she was worried; they did _not_ need an arrest, not when things were going so well today. But then she noticed that Roderick was smiling. _Really_ smiling, and leaning into that car like he was looking for more than a donation. It seems her husband has a crush. A crush on the _chief of police_.

Roderick stiffens, trying to cover the heat in his cheeks with a cough, but he can't really force the blush away. It's so embarrassing. Swallowing a long gulp of lemonade, he looks up at Liza again and offers her a raised eyebrow. “As if you've never had a thing for a cop.”

Liza rubs his shoulders and presses her breasts against his back just to feel him squirm. It's a rare treat to unsettle Roderick, and she's going to milk this moment for all it’s worth. “Of course darling, but that is not just a cop, nor are you one for 'things'. So do tell, Roddy - does he make that constipated face in bed, too?”

Oh God, he's in for it now. Roderick turns around in his chair and tugs her top open in retribution. “I wouldn't know.”

Now it's Liza’s turn to blush, pulling at the strings of her bikini and quickly tying them back together. She sticks her tongue out. “Jerk!” It doesn't dampen her mood, however. She knows when she has a man cornered. “So not in a bed, then? Kinky. Come on, I want details! I am your wife, after all.”

Roderick smirks a little, eyeing her breasts, even though they hold a little less appeal today. “Come sit in my lap, and I'll tell you every little thing.” He's stalling, and she'll slap him when he tells her the truth. But she's such a tease and a flirt, he feels he should pay her back in advance. Once he lets her know just how infatuated he is, she's going to give him hell for months.

Liza giggles, sliding into his lap and putting her arms around his neck. “Listen to you, playing the dom. We all know _that's_ not true, Roddy.” Her eyes light up. “Unless he's...and you...!” The thought of Roderick fucking the chief, telling him to take it and bending him over some bed makes her glad that her suit is already soaking wet.

Roderick has to bust out laughing at that, shaking his head as he holds her amicably close. “Nothing's happened, Liza.” He sighs, twirling her hair between his fingers. “He's been steadfastly refusing every advance I make. He does not sleep with married men, apparently.”

Liza pouts. “What a shame! Well don't you worry, darling.” She kisses his face and walks her fingers up his chest. “I'll tell the girls and boys, and we'll have that fixed soon enough. He's sure to come around with a little ingenuity.”

The idea is far too appealing, and Roderick’s arms stiffen around her. It takes him a moment to remember that he needs to school his reactions, and by the time he relaxes it's too late. Far too late. He's still trying to get his face back in order when he sees Vosh's car roll out of the garage. He smiles wide and waves. “It looks perfect, Chief!” He shifts Liza in his arms, barely realizing how they look.

The sight of Roderick and Elizabeta should not bother Vosh as much as it does, and it certainly shouldn’t sting his heart. They are husband and wife, and they have every right to be touching that way (even if it is inappropriate for a public place, and Liza's bikini is at least one size two small). But it does hurt, and Vosh scowls. This has already been the longest car wash of his life. He spent all of it looking anywhere but the scantily clad prostitutes, ignoring their catcalls and flirting. There certainly were some big players around, so it wasn’t a total waste to watch them interact. His brain is still working its way up to a massive migraine, however, and the sudden clenching of his heart does not help.

Vosh can't stay and watch Roderick make moves on his wife. There's no time, anyway. He has work to do. He gives them a nod and drives away, sticking to the speed limit despite the way his foot wants to pound on the accelerator.

Liza’s smile falls away. Even from several feet away, Vosh’s expression is easier to read than Roderick’s sudden stiffness. He's practically green looking at them. It's a shame, because if Vosh knew them at all he would see that there is affection between them, not passion. On the other hand, if Vosh is jealous, he must like Roderick in return. The wheels of her mind turn and the edge of her lip curls upward. “You are a very stupid man,” she tells Roderick affectionately, kissing his cheek. “You are very lucky to have me to fix things for you.”

Roderick blinks, completely taken aback by that remark. “But I haven't...” He frowns, hugging her against his body. The next car pulls up and he drags his hands down her waist, half-consciously showing her off. “Ten dollars, please. Thank you.” He flashes a smile as the man hands him cash. Once he drives away, Roderick looks down at Liza and grins. “You're like an advertisement.”

She laughs. “That's business, love. It's all in the advertising.” She rests against Roderick’s chest, thinking. “Do you want to spend the evening in happily wedded bliss? Maybe I can figure out some way to help you win over the chief; I've _quite_ forgotten your strong points.”

Roderick leans back in the chair, cradling her against his body and enjoying the warmth. Liza is one of the most attractive women he's ever met, bar none. And when she's plotting something, she's stunning. Nothing is more beautiful to him than a person who thinks. However, he's found himself uninterested in even the most attractive offers as of late. The one person on his mind is the one person who is not on the table. Perhaps he just needs to be reminded of someone else.

“Maybe...” he says listlessly, and realizes a moment later that he may have sounded uninterested. Hurriedly, he adds, “I'd love to, of course. That is, what I meant to say is, don't you have appointments?”

Liza smiles. Roddy is so cute when he's got a crush; forgetful, too. “We're closed for the night. I thought we'd all need a rest after working so hard today. They won't do a good job without some sleep. As for you,” she pokes his chest, “don't go and become a good husband on me now. If you don't want to spend the night with me, that's fine. Go and use your hand while you think of those beady green eyes.”

Roderick smiles sheepishly, tucking a long brown wave behind her ear. “I've always had a penchant for beady green eyes, I think.” Perhaps a night together would be good for them. Not sex - well, maybe sex, but not anything too intensive. Coffee and conversation, a heart-to-heart. He misses their friendship. “Biscotti and coffee?”

Liza takes his hand and kisses it. “It’s a date.”


	42. Of Monsters and Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a talk with Ivan, Raivis' place in the Braginski empire is solidified. During a talk with Eduard, things are less certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments!

In the days after the car wash, Raivis came up with a plan - one that would take a tremendous amount of courage to enact. Something about that event struck him. It wasn’t just the way the hookers treated Eddie, but the way they treated Ivan. Once he stopped being jealous and started paying attention, he saw the way the world parted to let Ivan pass, the way everyone fell over themselves to give him what he wanted. The way they always have. And Ivan ignored them all, except for the ones who refused to bow, like Ludwig.

That, Raivis realizes, is power. It also reminds him of something Natalia is fond of saying: _Ivan does not have time for useless things._ There is no one in the Braginski household who does not serve Ivan’s purposes. Not his sisters, not Toris, and certainly not his adopted sons. It’s time for Raivis to learn what his purpose is. It’s time to stop being treated like a child and get more than a taste of the power that comes with the name Braginski.

After working up his courage and rehearsing what to say (several times), he knocks on the door to Ivan's office and slips in before he can be invited. “Sir?”

Ivan looks up from his papers and smiles upon his youngest. He holds up a hand, asking him to wait, and finishes marking off a few names. Housekeeping is a full-time job. He hands the list to Grell, who practically dances out the door. Then he returns his attention to Raivis. “Good morning! What can I help with?”

“Do you have a minute?” Raivis asks, just to be polite. He's come this far already, so they're going to have this talk now if he has to plant himself in that chair and refuse to get up (though he senses that may be counterproductive).

It is rare to see Raivis so business-like. How interesting. “Work can wait,” says Ivan, pushing aside some of his papers. “Come sit, and we will talk.”

Raivis warily takes a seat in one of the more comfortable chairs in front of Ivan’s desk. Despite all his rehearsals, he's still not sure how to say this. He decided it would be best to ask outright, but he's terrified. Swallowing, he looks down at the desk for a second, attempting to organize his thoughts before they reach his mouth for once. He winds up blurting it out anyway. “Why did you adopt us?”

Ivan sits back, legitimately surprised by the question. Interesting indeed; Raivis is always keeping him on his toes. On the other hand, Ivan knows this question has been coming for a long time. Both boys have referenced the idea, but they always seemed afraid to be direct. This will need to be handled delicately. He holds Raivis’ gaze as he replies, giving him the attention such candor deserves. “I found you. Or rather, some of my comrades did. They brought you back to me, knowing I could not let such children remain alone in the world.”

Raivis breathes in slowly, grounding himself. Then he looks up into Ivan’s face calmly, for what feels like the first time in an age. “No. Your boys brought us to you because we saw you leaving the old warehouse on Turlington Avenue, and you had blood on your coat.” He leans on one arm of the chair, holding his chin up by the palm of his hand. “Clyde Renault, that enforcer who used to work for the Vargases, was found in the warehouse a couple of days later.”

All through this little revelation, Ivan smiles. So Raivis remembers after all; he'd often wondered if the boy was too young. “Of course. Very sad. Sadder to see two little children alone in the cold, half-starved.” Ivan watches Raivis carefully, trying to decide if he really wants the truth. If he's ready for it. “As I said, they thought I would want to take care of you. I have, haven't I?”

“You have,” Raivis agrees, praying to God that he's reading Ivan correctly. He doesn't _look_ like he's about to take out his gun and shoot him, but Ivan has a habit of being unpredictable. Raivis’ memory has always been good; better than almost anyone's. He still remembers the color of the turtleneck Ivan wore that day, just barely peeking from his trench coat, and the look on his face as he stared down at Raivis and Eduard. “But why?”

“Because I have never killed a child,” Ivan replies. Hurt, been involved with their deaths, yes. But those were mostly teenagers. Eduard and Raivis were the first children he'd ever had to consider as threats in need of silencing. He has since learned other means to quiet them, but back then he was still young with much to learn. He remembers staring at them, two shaking, terrified boys in the clutches of big Russian men. He had a gun. He had knives. He had poison, ropes, and every other means he could want to get rid of the nuisances. No one would even have looked for them. But he couldn't do it. They reminded him too much of his sisters, and of himself.

“That wasn't the question,” says Raivis, examining the man's face for signs of anything, any thought below the façade he's perfected. On the surface, Ivan always looks genuine. “Why did you adopt us?”

“Ah, my son, that face!” Ivan chuckles. He reaches across the desk to cup Raivis’ cheek, rubbing his thumb over it roughly, but with affection. “That is why. That night I tried to take away your dear Eduard; to separate you until I could decide what to do. You both fought like tigers! Such spirit, where before there was such fear. Is familiar story, da?” He smirks, releasing Raivis’ face and flicking his hand toward the college information gathering in a pile of neatly labeled binders. “I have always liked your spirit. But I am still not answering the question, I suppose. Here it is simply: I adopted you because I wanted you to love me.”

Raivis jerks away from Ivan’s fingers, trying not to show fear or revulsion. He does a damn good job of hiding the revulsion, but the fear is there. Does he love Ivan? ... In a way. He's become an ever-present force in their lives, making sure they have everything they need – or at least, what Ivan thinks they need. And so far he's never hurt them - _so far_ being the operative term.

Raivis squares his jaw and sits back in the chair. “I don't think you're telling me everything. If I said I wanted to go to college like Eddie, what would you say?”

Perceptive boy. Raivis picks up on things quickly; they both do, but Raivis is better at reading people and Eddie is more adept at academics. “I would say you have some years to decide if that is what you want. Then you will be eighteen, and what may I do to say yes or no? I want you to be everything you can be, Raivis. So, is my turn for a question: what do you want to be when you grow up?”

The thought makes Raivis a little sad. He has no idea what he wants. Art used to be the thing that kept him up at all hours, working until someone came in to remind him that the world still existed. But he can't live on art, and he doesn't want to. Not anymore. He wants to do something he knows. He wants to be comfortable, to command respect. But mostly, he wants to outlive the man sitting so smugly across the desk. “I want to be the thing you've been teaching me to be. I want to be a monster. Like you.”

This time Ivan’s laugh is cold, the kind that makes grown men shake before him. “Monster? Is that what I am?” His violet eyes glitter, sharp and intense, too focused for a mad man and too strange for a sane one. “If that is what you want, you will find that there is little difference between a monster and a man. There are no angels, no innocents. There are only those who know how to accept the world for what it is, and those who delude themselves.”

Ivan stands and walks around the desk, staring down at Raivis. He has grown so much since Ivan took him in. The fear is still there, but his spirit has grown stronger. “You have seen many more things since that first night, yet you sit here and not with the police. Why? Because you _do_ love me. Because I took care not to lead you astray, not to mislead you into believing that the world is always pretty. Eduard was too old when you came to me; he could never love me. He will be mine in other ways. You, however...” He grins, holding out his hand. “You are already what you wish, my little monster.”

Raivis smiles a little. It’s the best response he could have expected. “I do love you,” he admits softly, taking Ivan’s hand and rising to his feet. “But if I'm going to be like you, I need to learn. So you are going to let me.”

“We will see what happens.” _If you can take it_ , Ivan means. However, he is incredibly pleased. All his plans are coming together at last. This boy is his. Should anything happen to Ivan, there will be another to take his place and keep things running. And if all goes as planned with Eduard, there are contingencies in place. He will make sure Eddie is in a position to...assist them, if they are ever in need of it. “You must be ready to handle the costs. No matter what they may be.”

Raivis breathes in slowly, closing his eyes for a second and opening them again when he feels ready. He's already lost everything that matters. All he can do is salvage what’s left. “What do I have?” he asks, shrugging. “What do I have besides you?”

Ivan sees the lie in that little shrug. There are few people who truly have nothing; even Ivan has a weakness. It may be folly, but he can never quite let go of how much he cares about his family. “Make him your strength,” he says. He lets go of Raivis' hand and waves dismissively. “Tomorrow. Come here after school, and I will show you things.”

Raivis nods, straightening at the mention of... the other one he needs to talk to. It shouldn't be so terrifying after this conversation, but facing Eduard after they’ve argued has always scared him more.

XXX

The whole bar smells like chicken. While most of the patrons seem to be ignoring it, Eduard feels compelled to follow it up to his apartment. Every step brings new detail to the aroma: chicken, tomato, and some kind of spice. When reaches the top of the stairs, he almost drops the books in his arms. He knows that smell. Raivis has only cooked three times in his life, and two of those times have been some version of the Chicken Casserole he learned from Aunt Kat. It’s one of the meals Eddie dreams of when he goes to bed hungry.

When he enters their shared kitchen, that dream is just coming out of the oven, making his mouth water. Raivis is pulling it out with the bright pink oven mitts Toris brought over from his apartment (apparently they belonged to his boyfriend), and actually smiling. Eduard doesn't understand this at all; Raivis has barely spoken to him for a week, let alone _smiled_. “Raiv...what are you doing?”

Raivis nearly drops the whole thing when he hears Eddie's voice. “Jesus, way to scare a guy!” He sets the dish on the stove and takes off his oven mitts as he turns around. There’s an easy smile on his face and 80's music pumping out of the iPod dock he brought out while he was cooking. _When you close your eyes / Do you dream- Dream about me?_ “I made dinner.”

“Oh. Are you having someone over then?” It's the only reason Eduard can imagine. Maybe Kaoru is coming; they tend to be on-again off-again, in spite of all their arguments. The idea of Raivis cooking like this for Kaoru makes him feel cold all over. He turns for the door. “I'll just, uh...”

Raivis frowns like he doesn't understand, even though inside he's practically giddy. It’s the perfect opening. “Who would I be having over? You're the one who _lives_ here with me, and Toris has off tonight.” He's too cheerful, bopping to the beat of the next song and humming along as he starts the salad. “No red onion?”

For half a second Eduard’s mouth falls open. He manages to recover before Raivis sees, but his eyes are still wide and there's an unmistakable wariness in his voice. “You made this...to eat with me?”

Raivis turns around with a faux-pout to cover his real one. “If you think I'm starving myself, you _really_ don't know me anymore. I'm hurt.”

The casserole has come out amazing. The salad is salad, but it's going to be an _awesome_ salad. Raivis has the best music on, and he looks good - like he doesn't care, which is why he changed his clothes five times. This is going to be perfect. He's not foolish enough to think Eduard is going to sweep him off his feet and kiss him after one bite of his stupid casserole, but they need to repair things. He needs to apologize, and this is a start.

Eduard is cautious by nature, and the idea that this _might_ be an apology has only just occurred to him. “It looks good. We haven't had this in a while.” Not made by Raivis, anyway. Aunt Kat's version is good, but there's something different about Raivis’. He's never been able to put his finger on what, and Raivis refuses to tell. “Do you want help?”

“Nope.” He starts singing along, dramatically rocking out with his salad tongs. “ _They don't write 'em like that anymore!/ They just don't write 'em like that anymore!_ ”He whips around like he's become a rock star, making Eddie laugh with some really bad eighties dance moves. If he's good at something, it's making Eddie laugh.

“I haven't listened to this stuff in ages.” Raivis grins as the song ends. He replaces the tongs in the bowl to mix it up, then brings it over to the table with a bottle of dressing - Eddie likes a little, while he likes to drown his vegetables in the stuff. He hands the bottle over to Eddie, and heads to the fridge to grab lemonade. “Want?” he offers, holding up the pitcher.

“Sure.” Eduard’s still trying to figure out how to react. Is this a ploy, or is Raivis really trying to make things better? Clearly they've been with Ivan for too long. Ivan is always difficult to read, with another meaning behind every word. Eddie shakes his head. Raivis isn’t like that. He takes a seat at the table.

Raivis pours the lemonade and puts both glasses on the table before finally retrieving the casserole. “We should probably let this cool for a couple minutes,” he suggests as he sets it down. Eduard nods, and silence follows. Raivis begins spooning himself some salad. The awkwardness is his fault, he supposes. He ran so far away from Eddie, it's his job to make the long trek back. The music helps; it gives him an excuse to be quiet. But he's never been good at silence. “I heard you got, like, the highest mark of the year in your Calc class.”

Eduard ducks his head. “It's just one test. The year's not over yet.” True, it was a major portion of his final grade and it got him out of taking the final. That's certainly not going to make him any more popular with his classmates. It’s another reason he has to be grateful that people know him as Ivan’s son; without that, it's likely he would have had a miserable time in high school. Then again, without Ivan he probably would not have gone to high school at all.

Raivis drenches his salad in dressing, passing the bottle to Eddie as he mixes it up. He ends up stabbing the lettuce with his fork even though he's trying not to look menacing. “I guess the ivy league nerd-houses are going to be drooling over your transcript.” This is the sore spot. He stabs his salad again. He's got to suck it up; suck it up or lose him for good.

Now _there's_ the Raivis Eddie is used to. It's almost reassuring to see that he hasn't been replaced by an identical Raivis clone. He is quite sure that around here, such a thing is possible. “That would be nice. But, ah, they base a lot of it on last year.” He should change subjects. No need to cause another argument when things are going so well. “How're your classes?”

Rolling his eyes, Raivis drops his fork and sits back in his chair. “You can imagine.” He's never been great at school, and with Kaoru, he just barely cared. The best he can hope for is passing, and that’s just fine. He knows what he's here for now, after his talk with Ivan.

Eduard carefully cuts into the casserole, watching the steam rise between them. “Well, I could help. If you wanted, I mean.” He ducks his head, afraid Raivis will take offense. They both know he's smart; it's more like he doesn't care.

Raivis smiles a little, aware that the offer is mostly empty. Eddie doesn't want to be around him when he's in a _good_ mood, let alone when he's thinking about school. “Thanks. That'd be great, if you have time.”

He takes the knife and cuts his own piece of casserole, setting the gooey, delicious mess down beside his salad. Softly, not sure if he really means it, he adds, “I'm happy for you.”

It takes a concentrated effort for Eduard not to choke on his lemonade. He swallows carefully, still trying to decide if he misheard. “What?”

Raivis rolls his eyes. “God, don't make me say it again - I'll choke on it.” He smiles again anyway. “Seriously. I'm not gonna lie, I hate the thought of you going. But I'm happy. It's what you want more than anything.”

All sorts of alarms are going off in Eduard’s head, but Raivis seems completely sincere. That makes Eddie even more worried; did someone die? No, surely he would have heard. Maybe it's just high time they had this conversation. Or rather, had it without all the yelling and slammed doors. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” He hesitates, then says, “You know, it's not like I want to leave you. I wish I could take you with me.”

“Please,” Raivis scoffs, forking some of the casserole into his mouth. “College is the best place to go to get away from everything here. That means me too.” He chews another bite and takes a moment to assess Eddie’s face. “Don't tell me you haven't thought about it.”

For a moment Eduard’s expression goes hard, ready to fall into their usual argument. _I didn't until you started being such a little brat._ But it’s time to let go of that, since Raivis seems determined to mend their relationship.

“I'll be back, you know. To visit. I'll miss you,” Eduard says instead. He does not promise to come back and stay once he's graduated, or even during the long holidays. To lie like that would be an insult.

Raivis also ignores the skirting, because it's the only way to get through this conversation without turning it into an argument. “I'll miss you too.” It's the truth, more than Eddie will ever know. Part of Raivis wants to plead with him not to go, to beg him to stay and be near him. But that's something he can't do. He has to let Eduard go, if he has any hope of making a life for himself. “I really will. It's going to suck being here alone.”

“You won't be alone! You have other friends.” Eddie does not mention Kaoru, for many reasons. However, Raivis is not unpopular. True, he has no other _close_ friends, but...Eddie is making excuses. Raivis will be alone, and they both know it. He takes a bite of the chicken. “It's delicious.”

Raivis brightens a little. “Thanks. I used different noodles. I didn't know if you could do it with different noodles.” It's rare for Raivis to cook, but if he follows a recipe it usually comes out fine. This is the first recipe Kat ever gave him. He used to help her in the kitchen, and she taught him to make a lot of things. He's never attempted to make the others on his own.

The silence is awkward again. Raivis swallows, and forces himself to speak. “So… how's Emi?” _Be big about this,_ he warns himself, even as he drops his eyes to the table.

Eduard shovels more food in his mouth, stalling for time. It would be nice if there was something they could talk about without all this tension. He swallows, takes a long drink, and then answers. “Alright, I guess. Worried sick about his brother. Did you, uh, hear about that?”

“Uh-huh.” Same story, different day. It feels like the only difference is time. Raivis plays with his salad, enjoying the way the leaves crunch beneath his fork. “You been to see him?”

Eduard blushes a little, which is completely unfair. It's not a crime to visit his friend in distress. “Yes. He's back at school. I mean, he wasn't the one who got hurt. But I went over to catch him up with homework, and help around the apartment. Lukas looks...better. There wasn't even much to do; apparently Luk's boyfriend is being really nice. It's driving Emi up the wall.”

“Yeah. That's how those things go, isn't it?” Raivis replies coldly. He doesn't much care about Lukas or Emil. What he cares about is Eddie, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to keep him in his life; even if it means making nice with the boy who's stealing him away. Eventually, Eddie will realize that Emi is a train wreck waiting to happen. When that day comes, Raivis will be there. “So where are you thinking of going? For college, I mean.”

“Wherever they're willing to give me a scholarship. I guess somewhere Ivan approves of,” Eddie answers, digging into the salad. His nose wrinkles; not from the taste, but the truth of those words. Part of him wants to pick the school Ivan is least likely to prefer. It's not that he hates Ivan. Far from it; the man has been nothing but good to him. But he refuses to be sucked into his 'business'. He wants something else, something more. “It will be somewhere with a good computer program. I really like working with the programming, and there are lots of job opportunities, you know?”

Raivis nods, pulling the casserole apart with his fork. He doesn't like the idea of Eduard leaving, going somewhere else and never coming back. Unfortunately, from the look on Eddie’s face, that is exactly what he plans to do. He mutters under his breath. “It's a long way from pickpocketing, that's for sure.”

Eduard hears him anyway, and the thought actually makes him smile. “Do you remember that? Do you remember how we met?”

Raivis’ expression brightens, and he drops his fork to lean on his hand. “You were a _sucky_ pickpocket before you met me, Eddie. You should be glad you never got caught.”

“No, you were just too cute. Everyone felt guilty looking at you, so they pretended not to notice,” Eduard teases, even though it really isn't funny. They were starving, freezing, and completely alone on dangerous streets. They were lucky to find one another and lucky to survive for as long as they did. He did everything he could to protect Raivis from the bigger, meaner kids. He ended up getting beaten most of the time, but it was enough to give Raivis the chance to run or hide. Raivis was the one who could sneak in places easily, or insight enough pity to grant them a free meal or a few dollars. God, if Ivan hadn't come along, they probably would've ended up dealing for Yao, or selling themselves. Not at a nice place like the Rainbow, either.

Raivis’ smile fades a little as he, too, considers the things that could've been, the hopeless lives they would've had if they hadn't met Ivan. It's true, he was an adorable kid. That was sometimes enough to get them a meal or a place to stay. And when it came to sneaking in and out of places, he was a ghost. But Eddie was smart. He had plans that never failed them, and even when he was getting the shit kicked out of him, he always knew how to get out.

Raivis wouldn't have lived without him. He owes _everything_ to Eddie. _'Don't worry, we'll figure this out.'_ Eddie always said. _‘We'll always have each other. You'll never be alone, I promise.'_ He can’t hold him to that. They’re not children anymore. “Hey - I think there's some ice cream left. Something with caramel in it.” He pushes up from the chair, no longer hungry, and carries his plate toward the sink.

Eduard wants to put his head in his hands and cry. God, what an idiot. How can he protect Raivis if he leaves? What will become of the boy who is so much more than a step-brother? It kills him to leave, it really does, and in moments like this he considers telling Ivan that he'll work for him, hack security codes, deliver things, whatever he wants, just so he can stay with Raivis. On the other hand, this place is killing him. If he doesn't get out now then he never will. He'll come back. That's his new promise. He'll come back so he can take Raivis with him, and together they'll find a better life than they've ever known.

Raivis pulls out some tinfoil and covers what's left of the casserole, avoiding Eddie until he has to turn around again. The look on his face is one of guilt and resignation. A nasty, vindictive part of Raivis relishes that. He _should_ feel guilty for leaving him here. But Raivis stomps those thoughts down hard. He can't keep wanting Eddie to feel guilty. No matter what promises he's made, he has to let him go. At least for a little while.

“Listen, I've had a strange day,” he says. “Starting with a heart-to-heart with Papa Bear and ending with the decision to dump Kaoru for good - which happened about an hour before you got home, by the way. So can we please stop thinking about what’s going to happen in the future and just enjoy the moment?”

Eduard’s mouth opens and closes several times. He...what? There are so many things Eddie wants to ask. Heart-to-hearts with Ivan are always significant, and _dumping Kaoru_? He's been waiting to hear that for a long time. In the end, however, Raivis is right. They spend too much time worrying. His smile comes out shaky, but he tries. “Okay.”

“Cool.” Raivis sets the remains of their dinner in the fridge, then rummages around for a tub of caramel swirl. “I got a hold of that new alien movie you’ve been talking about. Wanna watch?”

Eduard chuckles and stands to bring the dishes to the sink. They'll wash them later. Or, more likely, Toris will. “Yeah. Let's watch it.”


	43. Two to Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yao and Ivan reveal the truth about their involvement with the Beilschmidt/Karpusi murders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos! We love hearing from you.

It has been a long night for Ivan. He's been tracking shipments and sales, considering colleges for Eduard, and setting aside lessons for Raivis. He needs to learn what the boy can handle and give him a chance to earn some respect. He can tell his employees to listen to Raivis, and they will obey. But without respect (and a touch of fear), there will always be doubt. There can be no doubt now, no mistakes. He is only a few moves away from putting his enemies in check, and they will never see it coming.

He’s setting aside a minor issue for Raivis to work through when there’s a knock at the door. He expects it to be one of his employees with fresh news, or perhaps Raivis seeking more information. Instead it is Yao, leaning in the doorway with his ankles crossed, unannounced and all the more lovely for it.

Yao smiles a little. He likes the way Ivan looks when he's vaguely surprised. He came dressed to impress in tight, rust-colored jeans and a loose black muscle shirt that shows off his tattoos and the track-marks from his harder days. His hair hangs loose in a ponytail, and he reaches up to pull it free, shaking it past his shoulders. “Busy?”

Busy? Well, he was, but now Ivan’s mind is stuttering to a halt. It is incredibly unusual for the mere sight of a man to have such an effect on him. It’s hardly fair play. “No. Did you want something?”

Smirking wolfishly, Yao leans in the doorway and waits for an invitation. Never enter a man's office without permission, or he has every right to shoot you. That was what his father always taught him, anyway.

“I want several things,” says Yao. “One, in particular...” He lets his eyes travel low and pause at the desk, as though he's visualizing what Ivan has beneath it. Each time they’ve seen one another they’ve gotten closer, made their touches a little more intimate. Perhaps that's why Ivan hasn't visited again.

Ivan leans back in his chair and takes a long, slow look at Yao. The man certainly knows how to play up a seduction. “Well then, come in and ask. I am in a good mood tonight.”

Yao strides into the room, all confidence as that smirk twists the corner of his lips. He wants this man under his thumb and in his bed. He'll take one or the other before he lets himself really _feel_ things for him, but he'd prefer both. He stands above Ivan and drags a hand down his cheek. He left the blade ring off tonight; no need to cut up Ivan’s handsome face. “Down to business so fast?”

“Did you have something else in mind?” Ivan asks. He reaches up to tug on Yao’s hair, winding the length of it around his hand until he has a good grip. An experimental pull brings Yao much closer. He chuckles. “You have a leash. I like it.”

Yao’s breath hitches and he lets out a choked noise. Ivan likes it when his lovers are vulnerable – at least, that is what Yao has been told. Best to give Ivan the illusion of control, at least for now. He holds the back of the chair and straddles Ivan’s knees, leaning into his face. “Oh yes.” He takes the initiative then, stealing his lips in a kiss that makes their nerves shudder with heat.

Ivan uses Yao's hair to keep him there, making the kiss deeper. He pushes his tongue against Yao's lips until they open for him, then shoves it in his mouth. If Yao's going to play games, then he is too. And he’s going to win.

The kiss turns dark, and the way Ivan yanks his hair nearly drives Yao out of his mind. He opens up for Ivan with a groan, sucking his tongue hard and nipping his lower lip before he finally manages to pull away. “I missed that.”

Ivan hums in agreement. “You see? This is why I say business first. Otherwise...” He leans in and bites Yao’s neck. “…nothing ever gets done.”

Yao lets him bite and slides further into his arms, a low noise rising from his throat. “That is a very good point.” Sadly, it is, and now Yao forces himself to lean out of Ivan’s reach. He captures Ivan’s face in his hands and pulls it up to meet his eyes. Yao is here for reasons besides his libido. “I need your help, and I'm willing to offer you something in return.”

Ivan’s smirk widens. Yao Wang, the drug lord, wants _his_ help. This must be something interesting. “If you want someone dead, my dragon, I will be asking why you do not take care of them yourself. I find it hard to believe there is anyone you are afraid of. If there is, I would like very much to meet them.”

“That is the sweetest thing you have ever said to me,” Yao replies. His lips slide in again to meet Ivan's, but he pulls away again before they can lose focus. However, he does allow their bodies to remain close and brushes his fingers down Ivan's neck. “There is no one I want dead at the moment, just a mystery that needs solving. Someone has killed my brother's lover. I would like to know who.”

Ivan does not bother to hide his surprise. Kiku's lover...that was Heracles Karpusi, wasn't it? The man who died the same night as Gilbert and Hans. It was a successful night for Ivan, not so much for those three. And he is not the only one who benefited. He answers carefully, sliding Yao off of his lap. “You did not like your brother having a lover.”

Yao shrugs a little. This is common knowledge - as common as the fact that Ivan profited from the Beilschmidts’ deaths. “I did not like him having a lover who wished to marry him. Things were fine the way they were. He believed he was free of me, but he was very much mine. I would prefer that harmony remained.”

Ivan wonders if Yao realizes what he is asking. After all, there are good reasons Ivan never set his mind and manpower to solving this murder. The first is that he profited from it. The second... “You did not kill them?”

Ah, there it is. The question that no one seems willing to ask. Yao’s lips curl a little. “No,” he answers truthfully. “If I had, I would have done a better job of it - as would you. They would have disappeared, not left bloody messes in the street.”

That is a fair point. When Ivan leaves a scene messy, it is a message. If those deaths were a message than he was not the one who was meant to read it. Still, he must be sure of Yao's trust. “How are you certain I did not kill them? The old man was in my way. Gilbert was an annoyance. Heracles...a casualty.”

Yao moves closer to him again, leaning in and ruffling Ivan’s hair. “If you had killed them, you would have left their bodies at Bielschmidts' door. Besides, I trust that if you had murdered Heracles, you would have told me, if only to gain my favor.”

“I do not need your favor. That is an unexpected little gift,” Ivan chuckles. He takes Yao’s hand, bringing him back onto his lap. “You are right, I did not kill them. But why do you wish to know who the killer really is? What makes you want your _brother's_ favor so badly?”

“Why? Jealous?” Yao raises his eyebrows at the question, smirking slightly as he reaches between them to part the buttons on Ivan's shirt. He has never seen him completely undressed, and he is starting to get impatient. He leans in to press his lips to Ivan's throat, nuzzling his neck and breathing in his scent. “It's not something you need to worry about. I simply wish to make it clear that those who harm my family in any way will not be tolerated.”

Ivan grunts. That feels...very nice. “I was very close when it happened. I meant to talk to Hans - only talk. Very obvious if I hurt him then, after so many saw me at the bar. But I was delayed. I happened to spot my Raivis getting into your nephew's car, so I did not see or hear more than anyone else. Do you have any ideas?”

Yao sighs and shakes his head slowly. “I am afraid not. I was at home, going over the books with Sebastian. The most I have been able to gather comes from Kiku: Heracles was en-route to meet him at the Rainbow, and Gilbert was going to meet Francis. One of my men says that he heard Heracles and Sadik Adnan fighting again. I spoke with Adnan, and he swears that he was not involved.”

Ivan snorts. “Of course he does. The guilty swear very much. That is why I say nothing, and let the rest of the world decide what I have done. It keeps them guessing.” He tilts his head. “Yet, I am thinking it was not Mr. Adnan. If Heracles alone was killed...perhaps. But he is not so important, not compared to Gilbert. Of one thing I am certain: this was Gilbert's murder.”

“Clever man.” Yao grins, leaning into him and wrapping his arms around Ivan’s neck. “Now, the question is, will you find me an answer? And what will you expect in return?”

Oh, there are a few things Ivan would like in return. He takes hold of Yao's hair again. He can't get over how smooth it feels against his fingers, how much fun it is to pull. He'd like to hold it while Yao's mouth was wrapped around his cock, direct his every move. However, the best kind of check is one where the numbers are blank. “I will find your answer. And when I do...” He leans in close to Yao’s ear, sucking briefly on the edge. Yao leans into him, making a pretty sound. Ivan laughs and sits back again. “Well. We shall see what I need when the time comes.”

Ivan is shrewder than Yao had ever thought. He purrs, leaning after Ivan’s mouth and kissing him hard, heavy, taking control as he unbuttons the rest of Ivan’s shirt. He slides his hands down the shadows of Ivan’s chest, tracing scars and burns and marks that he cannot see. Then he slides them back up to toy with Ivan’s nipples while he nips his way down Ivan’s neck, sliding past the scarf to go lower, sucking at his collarbone. “I like a man who makes deals with his clothes on. But now the deal is done, and I'd like to take them off.”

Ivan sits back and gives Yao room to do as he pleases. It is probably a bad idea, considering the number of weapons that are hidden on both of them, but he's survived worse. “You are a relentless tease. Lots of kissing, little else,” he says.

Yao pouts, leaning in to nip at Ivan’s throat. He doesn't care that he's being a tease. That will make Ivan far more likely to do as he's told.

Ivan pulls him up to kiss the pout off his lips. “I tease too. I like kissing very much.” After a long, pleasant kiss, Ivan releases Yao again. He ponders how best to approach this newest assignment. It's a very important one, since Yao seems to be treating it like it is part of their courtship. “You know, the old man was on the phone with Ludwig that night. Very upsetting conversation, it seemed.”

“I know,” Yao sighs. “I heard. They questioned Ludwig for a long time.”

Ivan shakes his head. “Killing his own brother. Tsk; family is more important than anything.” If that is really what happened, it would be difficult to prove it. It is very, very difficult to get anything out of Ludwig, especially if the crazy little Italian is with him. Not to mention the fact that Ivan’s relationship with Ludwig has been even more strained than usual in recent days. What a fine solution it would be for the cops to take care of Ludwig for him! That is what happened with Gaul and Roma in the old days, after all. But how to find the evidence? He needs someone sly, stubborn, loyal...ah. “Perhaps I shall send Natalia over.”

Yao wrenches back and frowns. “Your sister?” Slowly, he slides from Ivan's lap and takes the hairband from his wrist to pull his hair back again. “Why? You have other spies.”

The sudden lack of warmth makes Ivan almost reach out, but he restrains himself. It would be better to find out what made Yao pull away. Natalia is not well liked, but he thinks there must be more to it. “I have none that are so loyal, and few so clever. She is also very pretty, and pretty girls are less likely to be kicked out on sight. That will give her time to look for clues; my sister has ears and eyes as sharp as her tongue!” He laughs, but it is clear that Yao remains dissatisfied. He tries again. “She is a snake, I admit, but it is better to send her to bite someone else. Besides, this will keep her occupied. More time for you and me, da?”

It takes Yao a moment to come around to the idea. Ivan does have a point. Natalia is very good at what she does, and more time together would be nice - but it's not going to happen until they both find their answers. Besides, Yao is beginning to enjoy the way they chase one other. He smiles a little, then leans down to take hold of Ivan’s chin and press a kiss to his cheek. “Da.”

Yao kisses the other cheek as well and slides away, turning his back on the man. It's normally his policy to never turn his back on someone this powerful, but Ivan won't shoot him until he puts out. Another good thing about this arrangement.

Ivan does, however, takes the opportunity to swat that pretty ass. “Good.”

Yao gasps, whipping around and giving him a lecherous look. “If you were anyone else...”

Grinning happily, Ivan leans back in his chair. “A good thing I am not. Goodnight, Mister Wang. I will see about your killer in the morning, and dream of your dragon tonight.”


	44. Hats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feliciano, Francis, and Elizabeta visit Feliks and Toris in the hospital with a colorful surprise. But while Francis and Liza share their joy with another patient, Feliciano offers Feliks a quicker end to his suffering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeep 100+ comments! And only half of them are our replies ;) Thank you so much everyone!

"The strong, sharp-eyed captain was a sight to behold without his breeches. Long, lean legs and a finely shaped ass that had clearly been kissed by the afternoon sun. Jonah knew that as a lowly cabin boy, being caught staring would earn him more than a place in the brig. But he could not help it. Captain Ferrard, the most feared pirate in any sea, was by far the most handsome man he had ever laid eyes on.”

The hospital room is quiet, except for the steady hum of machinery and Toris’ voice. Feliks is too tired to read to himself today, and Toris is more than happy to read out loud for him. The only problem is that Feliks has been going through a romance kick - historical romance. Historical, erotic romance. Toris is tempted to roll his eyes. “He brought the tray into the room, pretending he did not notice the man's state...."

Feliks is cuddled against Toris with his eyes shut, letting Toris' voice take him far, far away. In his mind he isn't sick. They're on a boat, and their romance is back at the beginning. The thought of Tori in a captain's hat is pretty nice, too. He snuggles a little closer, letting the scent and warmth of Toris’ skin take his imagination further.

"The captain groaned, his fine body turning over and catching the light from his small window, dark hair falling heavily into his eyes. 'Breakfast on the table,' he ordered gruffly, stretching a little to bring the feeling back to his bones. Jonah's eyes widened as the man exposed himself, his body all golden and covered in masculine hair, including the protruding rod between his legs."

Biting his lip to keep from giggling, Toris has to close his eyes and breathe out in order to compose himself. "The _velvet staff_ was a long one, thinner than his own, and Jonah's throat went dry at the very sight of it. He'd imagined it many times, stroking his own cutlass. But seeing it at half-mast was enough to make him burn to remove his breeches."

The door eases open, unnoticed by the pair on the bed (or, presumably, the coma patient). Francis peaks into the room, shushing Feliciano and Elizabeta behind him. There's a curtain around the first bed, so he moves toward the second. He can hear the rise and fall of Toris' voice, reading... _well_ then! “Bonjour, mes amis! Having a _very_ good evening, I see?”

Feliciano rushes in behind him, carrying a large bag. “Oh, are we interrupting? We can come back later.”

Toris jolts, blushing hotly at the sight of their guests. He shoves the book under a pillow and shakes Feliks gently. “Babe? Babe, it's Feliciano. And Elizabeta and Francis, from... How do you know them again?”

The dream falls apart as Feliks forces himself awake, landing rather harshly back in his own ailing body. At least the waking is nicer once his eyes adjust enough to see his friends. “Oh! Hey guys!” He squirms his way upward, careful of the lines attached to his body. They’re so annoying; they make cuddling difficult. “They’re from the Rainbow. You remember, don't you Tori? Francis used to come to the race track to find customers. Totally caught us screwing in the stables that one time.”

Toris blushes even harder and ducks his head. “Oh right,” he mumbles.

“ _Twice_.” Francis laughs. He's always appreciated Feliks' frank speech (at least about most things). He had a fine body, too. Now...it's such a shame, to see him so pale and skinny.

“Feliks!” Elizabeta slips between the boys, more bags in her hands. She smiles wide, despite the way her heart breaks at the sight of him. He’s lost more weight, and there are deep, haunted circles under his eyes. There's an IV in his arm and thin tubes running under his nose and over his ears. That should have been covered by all his pretty blonde hair, but now there's only a pink bandana. She misses Feliks’ company, and worries for him, and wishes she could help make things better. This whole thing makes her want to cry. She sets the bags aside so she can wrap him in a hug and kiss his cheek.

Feliks smiles and reaches up to return her hug. “Hi Liza! It’s been ages. How’re things?”

Liza pulls back, deftly flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, you know. Things.”

With a flourish, Francis offers a rose to Feliks. “You look good, darling.”

“You’re such a liar,” Feliks replies, but he says it with a smile and takes the rose anyway.

“Was that _The Captain's Boy_ I heard? Lovely choice,” says Francis.

Raising his eyebrows, Toris pulls out the book again and stares at the cover. _The Captain's Boy_. “Wow. You're good.”

Elizabeta’s grin turns mischievous. She steals the book from Toris’ fingers and opens it to the marked page. “Oh, you're about to get to the _good_ part... Well, the first one, anyway.”

Toris slides from bed and snatches the book away, laughing. “Jeez, Liza. Way to spoil it.” He pulls it back into bed with him, eager to get back to Feliks' warmth, and looks around once he sits down. “So, what's all this then? Is this BFF time? Should I run before you can rope me into pedicures and a fashion critique?”

Feliciano claps his hands. “You see? I _told_ you Toris would want a pedicure too!” The look of horror on Toris' face is priceless. His smile widens as he adds, “Actually, we have a surprise for you!”

Still laughing (at Toris’ expense), Liza and drops to her knees and starts digging through the bags. “It's kind of an amazing surprise, if I do say so myself.”

Toris watches curiously, and as soon as he catches a glimpse of what’s in the bags he starts grinning. “Oh, guys...” He can't help it; he's beaming. These people are the best people he's ever known, bar none. “You didn't have to do all that.”

Feliks is craning to see now, too, but Francis comes around the side of the bed and puts his hands over Feliks’ eyes. “It is a _surprise_ , Feliks! You are not supposed to see yet. Will you keep your eyes closed for me?”

There’s a wide grin on Feliks’ face. He loves surprises, and his friends always come up with good ones. He'll be happy if there really is a pedicure involved and nothing more. It would be nice to feel kind of pretty again. He laughs, tugging at Francis’ fingers. “Okay, okay! I promise!”

Francis takes his hands away and Feliciano pulls out his personal favorite of the hats. Naturally, it is the one he bought himself: a bright pink fedora. Before Feliks can protest, Feliciano tugs off his bandana and he replaces it with the hat while Liza holds up a mirror. “Okey-dokey! Now look!”

For a moment Feliks is afraid. He doesn't want to see his own reflection, and he certainly doesn't want _them_ to see him without his hair. He's almost angry that they would pull off the bandana without asking. He searches for Toris' hand. “I don't...”

That was probably not the best move on Feliciano's part. Toris squeezes his boyfriend’s hand, trying to reassure him. They're all friends here. They're all good people. No one cares about his hair - or lack thereof. They're here to give him something nice, to help him forget it for a while. “You look so pretty, Feliks,” he whispers, stroking his thumb over the back of his hand.

Liza’s smile falters. Feliks doesn't look happy, and his eyes aren't even open yet. She steps back, holding up the mirror like a shield.

Feliks takes a breath. Sitting here with his eyes closed will never change anything, as much as he wishes it would. He opens his eyes, and gasps. “Oh my _God_...” He reaches up carefully, touching the pretty hat. It's even got feathers stuck into the band on one side: one red, one white. It looks way better then the bandana, even though it makes it clear that there’s nothing left of his hair. Once it went to patches, he just let them cut it all off. This makes it look like he meant to be bald.

Relief washes through Toris at the sight of his smile. He really does look good with that hat - really cute. With the way Feliks is staring at his reflection, he can already tell that the hat is going to be his new pink wayfarers. He's never going to take it off.

Feliciano reaches out and tilts the fedora so it sits at an angle, the way he used to wear his own black fedora when they went dancing. He wishes they could go dancing again, now that they've each got a hat. “You like it?” he asks.

Feliks looks away from the mirror, because underneath the hat there are still sunken eyes and sallow skin. It's much nicer to look at the grinning Italian and smile back. “Yes! It's so cool, I love it!” He leans over the bed to hug Feli, then beckons for Francis and Elizabeta to come into hugging range too.

Francis kisses his forehead just under the hat. “You see? Beautiful!”

Toris reaches up and hugs Feliciano himself, whispering in his ear. “Thank you, _so_ much.” He means it. Despite everything that's going on right now, this is one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for them.

Feliciano kisses Toris' cheek, then reaches for the other bags. “There's more, too! We have lots and lots and lots of pretty hats, all for you! Everyone really misses you, and we wanted to do something to let you know.” He starts pulling out hats and putting them on the bed. “This one is from Sesel, and this one is from Kiku, and this one is from Lovi, and...”

Liza pulls out a pink, glittery newsboy cap, garnished with little leather flowers. “This one's from me. I thought it was just too cute.”

Francis pulls out a massive, 1800s style captain's hat, complete with lace, ribbons, pearls, and huge feathers. “And this is from moi! It will go well with your reading,” he says with a wink.

As his lap is steadily filled with hats of all shapes and sizes, Feliks starts crying. He can't help it. It's been a while since he felt loved by so many people, and he hadn’t realized how _lonely_ he’d been feeling until now. He wipes away his tears, and before he knows it he is trying on each hat, laughing at some and oohing at others. He puts the captain's hat on Toris' head for a moment, forgetting that there's nothing covering his own. He leans in to kiss him. “Oh captain my captain!”

“Now, Jonah! Such looks could earn ye time in the brig!” Toris laughs, kissing him slow and easy. He holds him close and enjoys the way their chemistry still sizzles from the tips of his toes to the split ends of his hair.

Feliciano giggles at the couple and pulls out a green, hand-knit cap. “From Katyusha! She sends a lot of love and a _really_ big hug. She delivered all the hats from the Braginskis, so Toris wouldn’t see them.” _And so Feliciano wouldn’t have to interact with Ivan._ The last hat he takes out is fuzzy and warm, with little flaps that can be pulled down over the ears. “This one's from Ivan the-...Mr. Braginski.” Feliciano wrinkles his knows as he says the name. Still, it was nice of him to offer a hat.

Toris stiffens and stares at the hat in Feliciano's hands. It's pink and fuzzy and it even has a little puff-ball on top. “ _Ivan_ gave that?!”

Francis senses the way the room suddenly goes cold. Something's not right about the way Toris said that name. He was sure Toris would find trouble working for Ivan from the beginning. On the other hand, there is trouble everywhere in this town and Feliks doesn't need to think about it right now. He puts on a smile and distracts him with a bit of gossip. “That reminds me! You remember the little Braginski boy with the glasses? Well, he is not so little anymore! Kiku and I took care of that.”

“From what you have said, he was _never_ little!” Liza laughs, nudging Francis with her elbow. “And according to Kiku, we could make money off that mouth.”

Feliks laughs so hard at that his sides ache. He does remember Toris mentioning something about spending a very awkward night at the Rainbow, fending off advances and chatting with some old friends. “Oh God, you must be joking! Ivan would totally kill you. Seriously, can you imagine?”

“There would be blood everywhere,” Feliciano replies. He tilts his head and stares Liza down. “If I ever found out you tried to make someone in my family a whore, I think I would make you suck off my gun and blow out the back of your head. Then I’d give you a smile! Smiles are pretty.”

Years of dealing with unstable clients and employees help Elizabeta keep her expression calm. She blinks slowly. _Never mess with Feli's future kid. Good to know_. “Well, as long as you leave your gun behind you know you're always welcome at the Rainbow, and so is your family. As customers, of course.” She smiles cheerily, trying to pretend the man did not just threaten her life. In all the years she’s known him, Feliciano has never been quite right. It's easy to forget when he's putting on that sweet face and speaking with a voice coated in candy, until he starts making threats or spewing things that don’t make sense. Still, he has never yet acted violently towards anyone at the Rainbow. She tries to salvage the conversation. “Ivan brought Eddie by, actually. Wanted to ensure his manhood, no strings attached.”

“That is…really fucked up.” Feliks chuckles, but it comes out broken. He doesn't like to think about the things he had to do to make sure his own brains didn't get blown out. He shivers and buries his face in Toris' shoulder. “Thank you for the hats. They're really nice.”

Francis coughs awkwardly, then forces the smile back on his face. He's spent his entire life finding ways to block out the ugliness of the world, so it's easy enough to help hide it from others. “Of course, darling! We all love you. Now, we heard you were feeling a bit tired lately, but if you are not too exhausted now...how about a makeover?” He holds up their final bag, overflowing with everything from eye-shadow to nail polish.

“Ah, that's my cue.” Toris laughs, leaning over to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek. “Love you, babe. I'll come back around midnight. The nail polish should be dry by then, right?”

“I've told you, like, a zillion times. It doesn’t take that long!” says Feliks. He turns to press a deeper kiss to Toris’ lips. “Good luck with work, Tori. Love you too!”

Francis smirks. “Tell dear Eduard we said hello. Kiku and I miss him _very_ much.”

Toris laughs and shakes his head at the lecherous Francis. “I'm sure, but I am _so_ not sticking my head into that one. See you folks later. Feli.” He nods to him awkwardly, not really sure how to handle the fact that they're technically on opposite sides now. “Thanks again.”

“No problem! Anything for Feliks. _Anything_ ,” Feliciano says.

There's just enough menace in his smile to put Toris on edge for the rest of the night. He leaves fast after that, slightly perturbed by the whole exchange. At least his intentions are good. Mostly good. Kinda good. Good, at any rate.

XXX

Several hours later, the four of them are mostly made-up and Feliks is sitting back while Liza finishes little designs on his nails. He's almost asleep, exhausted by the afternoon’s excitement, and not listening to the softened conversation around him. Somehow he's ended up staring at the little gap in the curtain around his neighbor's bed. He can kind of see the man - woman? - through it, hooked up to more tubes than he is. The face is still covered by bandages, and he’s only ever seen doctors come to visit the other patient. It makes him sad. “Do you think it's true that talking to someone in a coma wakes them up?”

“Hmm?” Elizabeta blinks, looking up, then over at the shadow behind the curtain. “I dunno. Why? Have you been talking to chatterbox over there?”

Feliks shrugs. “Sometimes, when I can't sleep. I don't think it's fair that nobody else talks to him - or maybe it's a her. I don't know. I think they had a brain tumor removed or something. I'd be totally bummed if I didn't have you guys to come visit.”

“You mean to say there could be a pretty damsel or gentleman in distress over there?” asks Francis. He peaks around the curtain, still waving his blue nails to dry them. He’s a little disappointed to find that the face is half covered, with only the mouth and part of the nose visible. He moves past the curtain for a closer look. “Definitely a gentleman by birth,” he declares. “Your friend has stubble.”

“That _is_ really sad,” says Elizabeta. She takes off the captain’s hat, which she started wearing after Toris left, twists the cap on the nail polish closed, and wanders over to peek at the other patient with Francis. “Think I should paint his nails? He could so use a manicure.”

“That's a wonderful idea! Everyone is happy with their nails painted,” Feliciano replies.

Francis swallows. He has a feeling that Feliciano’s idea of painted nails isn't quite what the rest of them had in mind. Still, he cannot resist teasing, “Even Ludwig?”

“Of course!” Feliciano grins. Then he takes a moment to think about it, and his grin falls away. “Well, maybe not. Gil and I painted them black once while he was sleeping, and he wasn't very happy the next morning.”

“You _painted Ludwig's nails_?” Feliks gasps. “You must be the only person in the world who could survive that.”

The image makes Liza laugh out loud. She steals a bottle of fire-engine red polish and carries it over to the other patient's bed. “Okay, handsome. Let's glam you up- huh.” She blinks, taking the patient’s hand and examining his fingers. His hands are rough, but not overly so. “Nice hands. If you ever wake up, call me, m'kay?”

Francis grabs a bottle of pink and takes the patient’s other hand. This one has an I.V. in it, but he'll be careful. They _are_ nice hands. “We will see who he prefers!”

“Maybe he won't have to choose,” Liza replies with a wink.

Feliciano takes the opportunity to scoot closer to Feliks on the bed; close enough that the other two won't overhear them talking. Poor Feliks looks exhausted, with his eyes half-lidded and distant. Feliciano presses a hand against his cheek and whispers, “Feliks?”

“Mm?” Feliks blinks, trying to keep himself awake. Soon enough one of the nurses will come in with his meds.

“I was thinking...I'd like to help you. I don't want to see you end up like your neighbor: not dead, but not really alive. That's no way to exist. I don't like seeing you so sick all the time, either.” He leans in closer still, taking Toris' spot and cuddling up against him.

Feliks frowns, a little more awake now. He can't deny he's thought of the same thing, as much as it frightens him. He never wants to end up that way: a faceless, nameless ghost. Without Toris he might already be one. Maybe Feliciano means he’ll keep coming to visit, even if things get worse. “That's so sweet, but you've already done tons to make me feel better. You'll see, I'll be out of here in...in no time.” He swallows around the tightness in his throat.

“I could get you out faster. It would be easy, and it wouldn't hurt at all.” Feliciano strokes Feliks' face, trying to calm the fear and sadness in his eyes. His voice is soft and gentle. “You would have time to say goodbye to Toris, and he could be with you for sure at the end. We all could, if you wanted. I could give you something to drink, and it would be just like going to sleep.”

Feliks squirms away, sure that he must be hearing things. It's just the medicine distorting Feliciano’s words. “No, I don't think I want to sleep. There are noises in the closet at night, and I hear them, I really do. I feel like something's going to come out and get me one day. When that happens - God, Feli, sometimes I get so scared. But I just power through it, you know? I think of Toris, and...and it's okay. It'll be okay.”

Feliciano frowns, disappointed. But that’s okay. Feliks is clearly tired, and he probably needs time to think about it. There's still time for him to change his mind. He kisses Feliks’ cheek. “You take a siesta now, okay Feliks? We'll all stay here and make sure nothing comes to get you.”

Francis watches the pair settle down together from across the room. He smiles. “I think our friends are going to take a nap.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Liza replies. She puts one last coat of polish on the roommate’s pinky, then blows on his nails as she admires her work. “Actually, I’m getting a bit hungry. We should take a walk to the frozen yogurt place down the street on our way back to the Rainbow. The evening shift will start soon.”

Francis glances at Feliks’ bed, then lowers his voice. “We can stay until Toris returns, can’t we? There will be plenty of customers left at midnight. Now thinking of this poor soul,” he gestures to the hand he's half-finished, “I don't like the idea of leaving Feliks alone.”

“Me neither,” Liza agrees as she looks over her shoulder at Feliks and Feli. She doesn't like the idea of leaving _either_ of them alone. From what she hears, it's when Feliciano's alone that he's most dangerous. It is Ludwig that keeps him from burning the city to the ground like Nero. “Alright,” she sighs, sliding to her feet. “I'll settle for ice cream from the food court. Wait here. Mint chocolate chip, right?”


	45. Snake Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino questions his trust in Antonio, Feliciano reconsiders his offer for Feliks, and Ludwig does his best to hold them all together. But there is a spy in their casino, and Natalia Braginski makes a ruthless enemy. The die have been cast, and the ante is blood. Place your bets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at us, updating only a week later. As always, thank you for the comments and kudos, and thank you for reading! We'd love to hear your reactions to this one...
> 
> **WARNING:** Violent character death. Really, really violent.
> 
> (Also, neither of us speak Italian. Apologies if we made any mistakes!)

La Citta is quiet tonight, which means they can have dinner in the lounge for once. Ludwig sips his beer. It’s probably going to be tomato pie or something similar. He’ll have to order some sort of meat to go with it; perhaps sausage. To his left, Antonio does not look pleased either, but Ludwig doubts that has anything to do with the food. It seems he and Lovino are due for another battle. Ludwig shakes his head; sometimes he wonders what could ever possess a man like Toni to place his heart between a firecracker and a butterfly. Truly, some people just enjoy the pain.

“Ehya Luddy, you don't look happy,” says Feliciano. He's been feeding breadsticks to the puppies, who are not supposed to be fed people food _or_ allowed in the public lounge. Feliciano smiles innocently as another piece of bread disappears from his hand.

Ludwig sighs. “I just wish your brother would let me have sausage on the tomato pie.”

“You want sausage? I got your Italian sausage _right here_ ,” Lovino replies, pointing to his crotch.

Feliciano sticks his tongue out. “He’s already got mine. Give yours to Toni!”

“I'll pass, thanks.” Toni glares at Lovino, still in a bad mood after their fight this morning. He's so sick of this kid. Lovi’s always making jealous noises about his relationship with Francis, then bitching Toni out whenever he _does_ feel like being with him. What a waste of time.

“Toni can go fuck himself,” Lovi grumbles. “Nobody else wants to, not even his whore.”

Antonio rolls his eyes. “You know what? You're a piece of work. I'll stick around and guard your ass, but I'm never touching it again. You can go find somebody else to tongue your balls.”

Lovino gives him a nasty little smile. “Oh yeah? I'll just go talk to Francis then. Bet I could get an appointment faster than _you_.”

Rage hits Toni hard. He pushes out of his chair, fists slamming into the wood as he leans over the table like he might yank Lovino over it. “ _Fuck_ you, you little bitch-boy! You go ahead! And when he's through with you, he'll ask me how I could ever stand to fuck your nasty ass!”

Lovi rises just as quickly, one hand fisting Toni’s shirt and the other pulled back for a punch. Before either of them can make a move, Feliciano leaps up and pulls his brother back by the collar, all while shoving a knife towards Toni's face.

“That's enough! We have _enough_ enemies without you two fighting! Lovi, scopare o ucciderlo, ma smettere di cercare di fare entrambe le cose. Toni...” Feli’s eyes narrow. “Don't you ever threaten my brother again. What use is a body guard we can't trust?” He flicks the knife under Toni’s chin, drawing a speck of blood to make his point clear, then returns to his chair. Aster and Blackie are immediately at his side again, asking for more food. That makes him feel better. [1]

Lovi opens his mouth, then shuts it again. Feli has a point. He glances at Toni, and suddenly finds himself wondering if the man really can’t be trusted. There's got to be some way to get him to prove his loyalty, otherwise...fuck. Why is he even cringing at the thought of shooting the Spaniard? Is it because he's gotten too comfortable? He shakes his head and scowls at the whole room.

Ludwig continues to sip his beer, watching the family drama and kind of wishing Gilbert was here to see it. He always lightened the mood right about now with some flippant comment, meant to rob the room of all its tension. He reaches down to pet the overly-affectionate Blackie, letting her lick his hand. “Why don't we just order? I'm sure everyone's hungry,” he says.

“Si! I'm hungry!” Feliciano snaps his fingers in the air, and a waiter appears instantly. “Lovi wants tomato pie for everyone. Right Lovi? See, he's nodding. That's close enough. Oh, and bring something extra for Luddy! Like wurst, or something else gross.”

“And wine,” Toni adds. He lets his anger simmer away and drops back to his seat, wiping the blood from his chin. He can't wait until he can leave this place and just be with Francis. Make love to him all day long.

“Si, signori.” The waiter bows and makes his way back to the kitchen, unaware of the blonde girl following him with her eyes.

Natalia has been visiting La Citta for several days now, sitting at their bar and drinking vodka that is not half as good as Ivan's. Ivan told her to gather information, but her presence as a Braginski was noticed early on. She covered by complaining bitterly about Yao and how she could not stand to be with Ivan when the lizard was around. Her complaints are real, but she would much rather be _close_ to Ivan so she can keep an eye on this ridiculous love affair. She's been waiting for the opportunity to slit Yao's pretty little throat. The man is the worst kind of usurper, and she is quite sure he’s using Ivan for his power. She will fix it. She will find a way to make her brother see that she is right; a way to make him love her and never look for another.

This task in itself may prove useful. She has heard many things over the past few days, things that make her worry for Ivan. It seems that Ludwig and the Italians suspect Ivan, and that they do not like his new alliance with Yao any more than she does. They're planning something, something nasty. It will fail; Natalia is not going to let them harm her brother.

She strains to catch every word at the Vargas-Beilschmidt table. They aren't far from her spot at the bar, and she has excellent ears. She tries not to look interested; it isn't hard. Her face seems to have settled into a permanently bitter expression these days.

Ludwig decides to ignore the tension still percolating at their table by reaching for Feli's hand. “So how did it go yesterday?” he asks, linking their fingers together and bringing Feli’s hand to his lips. He wants kiss much more than Feli’s hand, but with so much to do this week he had no time to sneak away for their lunch date. He has not even had the chance to ask about Feliciano’s trip to see Feliks until now.

Feli frowns, trying to think of how to answer. “I'm not quite sure. I don't think he understood what I was trying to do, so I decided to wait. It's very important for him to be aware. I want him to be able to answer me.”

Ludwig nods, wrapping his arms around Feliciano and hugging him against his chest. “It should be done soon, then. I hear things are progressing fast. You are so compassionate to offer, Feli.”

Lovino snorts. “I don't know why you don't just off 'im. That's kinder than making everyone hang on like this. With that boyfriend of his over at the bar all the fucking time now, it's pretty clear things are going badly.”

“He's kinda right,” says Toni, grudgingly. “Plus, I mean, who knows. Maybe it'd be better for everybody if you just did it nice and quiet-like. Put us all out of our misery so we can fucking move on, stop thinking about it.”

Feliciano shakes his head, pulling the top half of Berlitz into his lap so he can hug the yellow lab while he talks. “It isn't that simple. This is different, and it won't just be moving on. That takes time, changes. Poor Toris is so in love...”

The waiter comes back in with their wine, and Toni takes a healthy swallow before setting the glass back on the table. His eyes slide to Lovino, who is looking at him as well. If there's one thing they both agree on, it's that Feli is too much of a softie to do what needs to be done sometimes. “You've gotta handle it eventually. You can't just let it go,” he says.

Feli hugs Berlitz tighter and sighs. “I know.”

Ludwig frowns, fingers rubbing up and down Feli's side. His poor lover looks so sad. “You do not have to do anything. Let the matter be decided when the time is right,” he says. Really, it is a matter that must be decided by fate. If Feliciano is meant to help Feliks die, he will. If the matter is to be settled naturally, it will. It is in the hands of God and these two men.

Natalia’s eyes widen as the conversation continues. The bar, the boyfriend, that sniveling little pet _Toris_...Ivan. They have to be talking about Ivan, and they mean to kill him. They would have killed him already if the timing had been right. She can just imagine Feliciano waiting for Ivan to look him in the eyes to shoot him or stab him, leaving him to die on the floor of his office. Maybe Ivan knew something was wrong, and purposely never gave Feli the opening he wanted.

On the other hand, there are times when Ivan is not as well-informed as he thinks. Times like now, when his world centers on Yao and the brats. If Ivan knew about this plot he would have taken care of things already. But wait - isn't that exactly what he told her to do? _"Take care of this for me,"_ he'd said, pressing her hands between his.

Natalia’s heart leaps. This is it! Her chance to show Ivan how much he needs her. Now the only question is how to accomplish it. She taps her nails against the counter, going through a hundred plans and instantly rejecting them. She has her knife and a gun, of course, but the knife requires close range and her aim isn’t as good with the gun. Those are both rather direct means, anyway; too obvious. She much prefers to orchestrate convenient accidents. A slip on the stairs, a car with bad breaks, a bit of bad food...she smirks. Yes. That might do nicely; they'll be eating anyway, and there’s already a little packet of death in her sleeve.

It is not so difficult to slip into the kitchen. It's always bustling with activity, plenty of people going in and out. She just grabs a tray and acts like a waitress. No one has time to notice that she isn't dressed in the same smart little suits as everyone else.

It does take her a moment to get her bearings in such a large kitchen, however. She catches a waiter and imitates their preferred manner of address. “Signore Vargas wants extra spices on his pie. Where is the chef?”

“By the stove, of course.” He passes the Natalia without a second glance.

Natalia can't help the sneer that twists her lips over her teeth. She brushes past the others, heading for the main stove. To her frustration, there are several tomato pies in the pizza oven, and no way to tell which is which with any ease. She grinds her teeth. A misstep here is unacceptable.

A chef shoves her out of the way, and she almost starts cursing at him. But then she sees what he's laid out on the counter. Wurst, in an Italian restaurant. The chef turns his back, and with a flick of her wrist, the deed is done. The poison is a colorless, tasteless powder. No one will notice until it is much too late. She slips out the way she came in, as if she was never there.

Feliciano and Lovino are chatting in Italian, a fact which annoys both Ludwig and Antonio. Normally, Antonio doesn’t mind so much. It’s close enough to Spanish that he understands almost everything they say, so it’s not like they can keep secrets from him. It’s the fact that they’re only doing it to block everyone else out that irks him, leaving him and Ludwig to an awkward silence.

Thankfully, the waiter’s return gets their attention. The waiter arranges the food on the table and immediately stands back, waiting for them to give him permission to leave or say something isn't right.

“Gratzie!” says Feliciano, and the man departs with a bow.

Ludwig smiles down at his wurst while the others cut the pie. It smells wonderful - but before he can cut into it, Gilbert's Doberman, Blackie, places both paws on his leg and starts to whine. She's giving him a pitiful look, like she's half-starved. He sighs. “Alright, liebschen.” He takes a knife and fork to the sausage and cuts her a piece, feeding it to her off a spare fork.

Feli chuckles. “You're so good to them, Luddy. You're really just like a big puppy-dog!”

Lovino scowls around a mouth full of tomato pie. “Treats the damn mutts better than anyone else. You'd think he was raised by dogs. Oh wait...he WAS!”

Ludwig ignores Lovi and kisses Feliciano's cheek, patting Blackie's head affectionately. He’s had a soft spot for her since Gil’s death. The dog lets out a little whimper, and he looks down to find her at his knee again. He sighs, cutting a piece for himself, then giving her the half of the sausage.

This whole circus is one thing that really endears this family to Toni. Ludwig loves his dogs, the other two make fun of him for it. It's like watching his mother and father and aunts and uncles bicker playfully around the dinner table. But then he looks down at the happy dog and finds her not so happy. She’s foaming at the mouth and breathing too heavily. Aster and Berlitz back away, whimpering and growling. Suddenly the Doberman falls over, her body seizing.

“Blackie?” Toni shouts, rising out of his chair.

Confused by Toni's sudden outburst, Ludwig looks over to find the dog on the floor, spasming like she's having a seizure. “ _Blackie_!”

Ludwig kicks out from the table, dropping to his knees. But before he can reach her the spasms are gone. There's foam and bloody vomit dripping from Blackie’s mouth, and the smell of sweat is heavy on her fur. She is completely still, and when he presses a hand to her pulse he finds nothing. Dead. Just... dead on their floor.

“What...but...” Feliciano’s voice nearly breaks as he watches Ludwig kneeling by his brother's dog, desperately trying to see if he can save her. Feli looks around for any clue of what happened; Blackie was old, but still healthy. She wouldn’t just _die_ , not like that. She might have choked, or…or…Feli's eyes land on Ludwig’s sausage. Then they go hard, and he _shrieks_. “MURDER! Assassinio! Trova il figlio di una cagna , lo voglio morto! DEAD! FIND THEM!” [2]

Lovino is on his feet in an instant, gun in hand. The remaining two dogs are snarling, sensing the mood of their masters. All around them people are panicking, trying to run, as though they are all guilty. “NOBODY MOVE!” he yells. “The next person to leave gets a bullet in the gut!”

Antonio snatches the wurst from the table and throws it at the nearest waiter. “ _Who sent this?!_ ” he growls, grabbing the waiter by the lapels. The man’s eyes grow wide and he can only sputter something about that being what Ludwig ordered. Toni realizes he's onto the wrong man. He lets him go, heading past him and into the main lounge, searching for any sign of someone he knows, someone who would do this.

From her spot in the corner, Natalia panics. This is _not_ what was supposed to happen! That goddamned _bitch_ just ruined all her plans! Ivan is going to be furious, and these fools will still try to kill him. She has to warn him. That damned dog, she should have used the knife and slit Ludwig’s ugly throat! At least then she would have been sure she finished the job, sure of Ivan's love, even if it was the last thing she did. How could he ever forget her, if she were to die a martyr?

Cursing, she uses the frightened crowd as cover and runs for the door.

But Toni catches something out of the corner of his eye: a flash of sandy blonde hair, a hint of blue tied up in it. Natalia - Natalia Fucking _Braginski_. They can’t let her leave this room. Toni chases her, but she's moving faster, so he whips out his gun and shoots once, twice. The first shot misses her by a hair, but the second catches the back of her head, exploding through her skull and leaving a bloody hole in her face.

Feliciano saw Natalia a moment later than Toni; it's a damn good thing, or he might have gotten in the way of those shots. He leaps on her, not caring or noticing that she's already dead. He stabs her over and over again, cursing her and screaming. “You could have killed Luddy! You would have! You killed _Blackie_!”

The witnesses are starting to scramble, and it’s going to cost them a lot of money to cover this up. Ludwig doesn't care; he doesn't even care that _he_ almost died. That bitch killed his dog. Blackie was Gil's favorite, Ludwig’s _last living link_ to his brother. Gil always called her his 'girlfriend' - the one woman he could count on. Now she’s gone, and Ludwig can’t bring himself to do anything but stare.

Lovino can hardly think either, it's all happened so fast. But someone has to take care of things, and a glance down tells him that Ludwig’s not going to be any help. Apparently Lovi himself is going to have to be the rationale one; a frightening thought if there ever was one. He steadies himself, then narrows his eyes and starts giving orders. “Toni, block the doors. _None_ of this leaves.”

Then Lovino goes to his brother, who is still making a mess of Natalia’s corpse. “Feli,” he says gently. Feliciano does not hear. “Feli! Feliciano! Hey, _idiota_ , stop stabbing the fucking body!” The words do not rouse Feli, so Lovi tries a more direct approach. He locks his arms around his brother’s waist and pulls him off the body.

“Get OFF! Get off, she killed Ludwig!” Feli snarls, struggling loose from Lovino’s hold and raising his knife to cut the arms that trap him.

Feli is strong when he's angry, but Lovi's bigger and he knows his brother’s weak points. He grabs Feli’s wrist and twists it until the knife falls, willing to break the bone if he must. “No, fratello! Ludwig’s alive, she didn't get him! Let go, come with me!”

Feliciano keeps fighting, but the grip on his wrist is iron, and...missing one finger. He blinks and goes still. “Lovi.”

“Si, si!” Lovino replies. He finally manages to pull Feliciano away and get him into a chair. Feli is covered in blood up to his elbows, with splashes of it across his shirt and face. That's not entirely abnormal, but it is strange to see Feli so shaken. Lovi gently rubs his brother’s hands, whispering comfort in low, soft Italian to bring Feli’s mind back from the brink. “Sono qui. Va tutto bene, Ludwig è vivo e la ragazza è morta.” [3]

Toni organizes the immediate clean up, sending muscle to every exit and every floor. “Go to every room. Make sure whoever saw, didn't see. Got it?” The men and women nod. Toni remains in the lounge and counts heads, keeping an eye out for anyone who looks suspicious. This bitch was crazy enough to come in here by herself, but hell, anything's possible at this point.

Once Feli is calm and under Lovino’s control, Toni snaps his fingers. Two guards immediately wrap Natalia’s body in plastic, then carry her out the back door. Two others wipe blood off the wall with bleach, and another sets a table over the stain caused by Natalia's stupid head. All the tables have long table-cloths; for right now, that will have to do. Toni sets a 'Reserved' sign on the table himself, then claps his hands together, gathering everyone's attention. “Drinks on the house.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> [1] ...fuck him or kill him, but stop trying to do both.
> 
> [2] Find the son of a bitch, I want him dead!
> 
> [3] I'm here. It's alright, Ludwig is alive and the girl is dead.


	46. Ivan the Terrible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan learns about his sister's violent fate. The city trembles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! Seriously, we adore you. Thanks for your patience, too - we know there's a long wait between chapters, and unfortunately there's not much we can do to speed it up right now without lowering the quality (or ignoring our real lives). We'll do our best to get them out as soon as we can!

The Braginski estate is heavily guarded against all manner of intrusions. When a black van pulls up and throws a large trash bag over the fence the guards scramble, securing Ivan's office until they’re certain it isn’t a bomb. The moment one brave guard looks inside bag, however, they start wishing it _was_ a bomb.

No one wants to tell the boss - not even Grell, who seems to _try_ to get Ivan to shoot her half the time. Thus, the task falls on Ivan’s current favorite; after all, the unarmed Toris can’t really refuse.

Grell fixes Toris' jacket as they stand in front of Ivan’s office, filling the otherwise ominous silence with nervous chatter. “Now, we're not even sure what exactly... _who_ it is. It could be a trick; the damage is lovely. I mean terrible. Never mind that. Just...just tell him it's very, very important he come down to see this. We've done our best to make the lady - whoever she may be - presentable. But I still recommend getting out of the way as soon as you’ve got him outside. Good luck!” She leaves him at the door to Ivan’s office and disappears around the corner.

Toris is white as a sheet. Who is Grell kidding? The girl is clearly Natalia in her best blue dress, ribbon soaked in blood, skull caving in. Ivan is going to lose his mind, sure as Toris is going to lose his lunch. Swallowing hard, he heads into the office.

Ivan is speaking with his guards in a deadly-soft tone, confused as to why he has not been allowed to leave. “I do not care if there is a bomb. There have been other such attempts. One even went off, and here I am with just a few scars. I am very lucky! Now. Let me out, or I will–” The door opens, and a welcome face appears. Ivan brightens. “Toris! You are here to explain, da?”

Toris swallows. “Ah... Sir. The-- the thing is...” It doesn't seem right to just lead Ivan outside to see the body. He's got to have some warning. “Someone just threw a body into your yard.”

Ivan raises an eyebrow. “Again?” Then he smiles. “Is it a present from Yao? He is supposed to visit later.”

Toris drops his head, shaking it no. He doesn't know what else to say, so he just turns around, leading Ivan out of the room and listening to him prattle on about Yao and his many good... qualities.

It does not take long for Ivan to sense the mood. He stops talking, a deepening frown taking over his face. His lackeys are hiding around corners and bowing out of his way; whoever is dead, it is someone on his side. His thoughts jump for a moment to Yao himself, but he doesn't think the man would be so easily killed. He can also think of plenty of better places to dump that particular body.

Toris leads him to a place by the fence. The body is lying under a bloody sheet, looking like nothing more than a bad scarecrow - or a very good one. There is a foot sticking out from under the sheet, however, and Ivan recognizes the shoe: a black Mary Jane over torn grey stockings. His blood chills.

It must be a trick. It would be simple enough to get similar clothing, to dress up some other girl to frighten him. Ivan tries to let himself believe that for a moment, standing stock still while he stares down the little black shoe. The wind blows by, picking up his scarf and sending ripples through the sheet. He cannot just stand here, nor is he able to delude himself. He has made a living on life's harshest realities, and it is too late to turn back now. In one smooth move he reaches down and pulls the sheet away. With a cry that gets stuck in his throat, Ivan falls to his knees. The girl’s face has been mangled, but he does not need that to recognize her. He knows.

Toris steps back as the sheet reveals what everyone knows is there: the limp, bloody body of Natalia Braginski. Toris turns away, feeling sick. He can understand Ivan's pain. It is an awful thing someone has done. Everyone is acting as if the man is going to morph into Godzilla and destroy the whole city, but Ivan is just a man. Toris knows better than to treat him as anything less, and gives him the moment he deserves as a human being.

In his life, Ivan has seen many horrifying things. Many of them have been his own doing. This...this affects him in a way nothing else has. His hand actually shakes as he reaches for the body, brushing strands of hair away from the mess where her pretty face should be. “Natalia...” His voice breaks. “Little sister...”

He leans over her protectively, practically choking on the emotion. Emotion that he has sworn away from, locked up tight. Ivan feels like he might be sick. But then, better to vomit than to cry. He hasn't cried in twenty years; he does not really remember how. His sister...he always pushed her away, never returning more than an ounce of the affection she loaded on him. She did everything he asked and only wished for his love in return. Ivan never had the same type of love for her as she did for him, but could he not have been a better brother? At the very least, he should have kept her safe. Natalia should not by lying dead in their yard, her face mutilated and her torso torn through. This is not right at all; it’s not what he wanted, not ever. He cannot even close her eyes. Ivan turns aside from the mess to empty his stomach on the grass.

Toris waits until Ivan finishes retching to speak. After all, as a human being, he may deserve this moment. But as a boss, a boss like Ivan has chosen to be, he cannot afford it. “Sir?”

Ivan wipes his mouth on the back of his glove, momentarily feeling empty. Toris’ voice leads him to look up, to see that everyone is watching him like shocked, scared little bunnies. All except for Toris, who looks pale, but otherwise formal. Ready for orders.

Ivan looks back at Natalia's body. A new heat grows in his empty belly. This is familiar; it is rage, hatred, fury, storms brewing bones breaking enemies lying in his wake. His fists dig into the dirt as he leans over his sister again, offering her the hug he never gave so freely during her life. He can feel her hate fuel his own, running through his blood and finally pouring out of his mouth in a roar that strikes like lightening and rolls like thunder.

They call him Ivan the Terrible, and now he is going to remind them why.


	47. Banshee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yao learns about the latest murders from Holly, and must give his alibi to the freshly promoted Raivis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! This is a short chapter, but the good news is we have a bit of a break now, so with any luck we'll get the next one up much sooner. Thank you so much for your patience, and a special thank you to everyone who writes comments! They're such lovely encouragement, and we do our best to respond to them all.

A hush has fallen over the city, as though someone turned down the volume. It feels like the days after the Beilschmidt/Karpusi murders, but there’s something more deadly about it. Yao heard something happened to a Braginski, and settled into a brooding sort of wait once he found out it wasn't Ivan. Yao’s feelers are everywhere now. It’s only a matter of time before someone tells him exactly what is going on. Once he finds out, he is going to give Ivan all the help he needs. Gift-wrapped, preferably living so that Ivan can do the deed himself.

Yao hears the front door slam, and a moment later Sebastian shows Holly into the main lounge. He pays Holly just as much for good information as he does for the dealing. “Hey boss. You ready for a blood bath?” says Holly.

Yao stamps out his joint in an ashtray and sits up a little, offering the dealer a smile. “Red _is_ my favorite color. You have news?”

“Yeah,” Holly replies. “Some junkies were saying a Braginski got offed, and I got confirmation from some of Ivan's boys. Natalia is dead. _Very_ dead, from what I hear.”

Yao sits up very straight, dropping everything at the name. Natalia. That devil of a sister. Well, now she's not a problem anymore - but still. Poor, dear Ivan.

“He must be devastated,” says Yao. He rises from his place on the couch to arm himself properly, sliding his ring onto his fingers, slipping Ivan's lovely dagger into his belt and his little five-shot into his pocket. “Who?”

Holly shrugs. “No one's talking. Apparently she got tossed over his fence in a trash bag. Gunshot to the back of the head, multiple stab wounds... I'm not sorry the bitch is dead, but that's a hell of a way to go.”

“You will _not_ speak ill of her,” Yao snaps, giving the man a razor sharp glare. “You will find out who it was, or you will know what it's like to lose a sister. Understand?” He knows he's striking a nerve, and it's not a threat he makes lightly. But he needs information now. He needs to know who he's going to torture. “Now. What _do_ you know?”

Holly’s stare hardens in return. Fuck Yao; if anything happens to Bella, he'll kill him. He'll die in the process, but he will kill the bastard. Chances are Yao knows that just as well as he does. Holly sighs; it’s best not to start that fight at all. He's got no leverage at the moment. “I know your boyfriend is pissed as all hell. But _no one_ is talking. Somebody must've scared them. That means that whoever did it, they've got something to back up a threat.”

Yao’s jaw hardens. That means one of two things. Ivan did it himself - which is possible, but highly unlikely. Or... “Were you anywhere near La Citta tonight?” he asks sweetly, knowing very well that Holly was. Yao’s been keeping tabs on Holly, and he knows it's where he's been parking lately. Close to the Rainbow, close to the cafe where he met that little trinket he'd spent some time with.

Holly nods curtly. “Close, but not close enough to hear anything. Did hear something strange, though. Seems one of Ludwig's dogs died. Poison.” Poison is normally Yao's game, but under the circumstances, Holly’s thinking it was someone else.

“Hmm. Funny, that.” Yao puts the pieces together, and it's not hard to form the picture in his mind. Natalia decided to make her brother proud. Didn't quite succeed. “I'm going to ask you something I already know. Was there a stretch of time in your shift when you happened to notice that no one was leaving?”

Holly raises an eyebrow. “It's a big place. Lots of doors, people never stop coming and going. If I wasn't close enough to hear, what the fuck makes you think I was close enough to see?”

“No reason.” Yao sighs, leaning over his desk to grab his phone. “Tell Huong and Lin that I want eyes in La Citta. And get back over there.”

There’s a knock on the door, then Sebastian lets himself in and clears his throat. “Ah... sir? Someone has just lobbed a cadaver onto the front lawn. Shall I take care of it?”

Yao’s eyes light up. That means Ivan is here. Leaving presents, perhaps looking for comfort. “No, let me see it first. And let the man in the trench coat in through the kitchen. I will see him in a moment.” It would not be good to let anyone know Ivan is here tonight, and he is fairly certain there are bugs in his office. Yao pats Holly's cheek, slipping past him to view his latest present.

Holly is happy to take that as a dismissal. There's no way in hell he wants to see Ivan again after their last little 'interview'. Shaking his head, he slips out the side door.

After confirming the identity of the scum laying in his yard, Yao has his men dispose of the corpse and heads to the kitchen, hoping to give the culprit a thank-you kiss. “Well!” he says. “You've outdone yourself. I've been hoping he'd go the wrong way for months. Thank you, very much–”

Yao flicks on the light and finds he is not talking to Ivan. Of course not. Ivan has other things to attend to. Silly him, thinking... Ah, but no matter.

“Raivis,” he says. The boy is wearing a grey version of his guardian's signature trench coat, with a loose red scarf. Grell is standing behind him, a rare, solemn expression on her face. It completes the picture of power before him; perhaps there is a new boss in town after all. “I rather like your style.”

Raivis is pale, but that’s the only outward sign that he has any grief for the loss of his pseudo-aunt. Inside he's crumbling. He'd only just begun to know Natalia, only just started to see that they had things in common. She was showing him, in her own twisted way, how to live with the affliction they shared. To love family, even adoptive family, as more than family. Blood or not, they shared this. He offers Yao a curt nod. “Ivan asked me to give you the courtesy of a warning.”

“I understand.” Yao nods. After all, there is nothing to prove that he himself was not involved, and that means he needs to get out of the way or prove his innocence. He sits down at the breakfast bar, waving to the tray of coffee already set down before them. “I was here tonight. My men were at their posts. We took care of a problem your men were having with the Armenians, but that was all for the evening. You'll get that package in the morning.”

“Prove it,” Raivis demands, ignoring any niceties the man may offer. “I want to know where you were. What you were doing.”

Yao raises his eyebrows, not sure how to take this. He's heard, of course, that Raivis has taken the position of heir. He did not know, however, that the boy was ready to _speak_ for Ivan. “I was here, dealing with some of my men who were doctoring product. You can see them, if you have the stomach for it.” He cocks his head to the side. “Though, I did hear something more interesting, if you'd like.”

“Oh?” says Raivis, with the barest shift in his expression.

Yao nods, resting his chin on his palm. He rather likes this new side of Raivis. It reminds him of himself, really: a pretty little thing who takes after his daddy. “It seems La Citta had a tragedy tonight as well. A dog was poisoned.” Yao blinks slowly. “Your camp didn't have anything to do with that, did they?”

Raivis raises his eyebrows at the news. Damn. That explains some things. Natalia has no fear when it comes to doing things for her brother - _had_. He keeps forgetting. His stomach lurches all over again. “We'll be in touch.” He stands, heading for the door with Grell at his heels.

“Oh, Raivis?” Yao waits for the boy to turn around, then cheerfully adds, “I like the way you're wearing that coat. It suits you.”

Raivis gives him a little nod of acknowledgment before leaving the house. He needs to report all of this to Ivan, but he can't call him now. Ivan might be in the middle of... other interrogations. Better to go to home and wait for his return.


	48. Almost Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clinic deals with the fallout of Ivan's rampage. At the end of a bad night, Tino and Berwald share one more confession and a shot at happiness - if only they could let go of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at 199 kudos, thank you so much!! It's so good to know that you like the story - it gives us the willpower to keep editing and making it better! We'll update again as soon as we can, but both of us are entering a very busy season at work and school. We appreciate your patience! 
> 
> Slight warning: There are descriptions of traumatic injuries in this chapter.

The clinic is a madhouse, overfilled and undersupplied. They’re using whatever materials they have and resting people in the waiting area just to make room. The only clear spaces are the supply closet (which is standing room only) and the kitchen (which has many sharp objects). And the upstairs, of course. Berwald still cannot allow a soul upstairs, not even Tino. Tonight is no exception.

Tino is with a patient who has been shot and bludgeoned like some terrible excuse for a punching bag. His face is unrecognizable, probably never will be again - if they can even save him.

“ _Shit_ ,” Tino hisses between his teeth, pressing the patient’s own hands over the bloody towel on his stomach so that he can grab clamps and something that might pass for a pressure bandage. It's getting to the point where they're going to have to decide who isn't going to make it before they waste supplies.

Berwald is already in the supply closet when Tino enters, checking what they have left and taking a moment to steady himself. There is a hospital not fifteen minutes away, yet everyone from the city’s underground comes to him. They trust him, and they seem to believe the clinic is a sanctuary from danger and death. The truth is there isn't much Bernie can do to protect them from either; not without supplies and only one (very talented) nurse. He's got a few volunteers pitching in, but their skills are limited and he can't trust them.

To make matters worse, they had to call Mattias and Lukas for help. They’re transporting some patients to the hospital; patients who need more than Bernie can give them. With any luck, they’ll return with more supplies, too. “They've got to hurry. We can't handle any more people, and I swore I'd never turn anyone away,” Berwald says as Tino riffles through the linens.

“You think I don't know that?” Tino wrenches away from Berwald and pulls down another towel - one of their last five. Fuck. Double, triple fuck. “It’s the patients that are holding them up. They're scared; they want to stay with us. One screamed at me when I tried to move him to the back porch.”

Bernie doesn’t reply. He puts on fresh gloves and heads back to the waiting room. A man grabs at his clothes and he pauses, letting the patient grip his hand. There’s blood in the man’s mouth and a hole in his lungs, so the pressure around Berwald’s fingers and the man’s wide eyes serve as his final words. Berwald holds his gaze, steady and calm, until the body goes slack. There’s no time for further respects or sorrows; the space inside the house must go to the living. At his gesture, a few volunteers come to move the body, and Berwald moves on to the next patient.

Outside, Mattias and Lukas are breaking more than a few safety protocols as they load people into their ambulance. Matt’s starting to think he should've taken something to settle his nerves before he came to help. The only upside is that Bernie is too busy to send him dirty looks, and Tino gets to see that he is still damn good at his job.

He turns to Luk as they strap the last patient in. “You got this, right?”

Lukas nods. Matt’s been so careful and kind the past few weeks, it almost feels like they’re starting over. His stomach has only just healed enough to get back to working full time – just in time to deal with this fresh nightmare, apparently. He looks to Matt. “Drive or ride?”

Matt starts toward the driver's side, then reconsiders. He could take a little something on the way, just to get him through the night. “Ride.” He hops in the back, yanking the door closed and patting down his pockets to see what’s there.

Luk’s stomach twists with dread; Matt had been doing better with the drugs, too. But maybe they all need a little something to get through on a night like this. He goes around front and starts up the sirens, beeping once to let Bernie and Tino know they're off with the first load.

Tino glances out the window, watching Lukas pull out. Dammit. Matt's in the back, then, probably getting high. He used to do the same thing when they were together. He grits his teeth, turning back to the patients. Matt's not his problem anymore. His problem is the room full of desperate people, lives seeping out or crushed alongside shattered bones. The whole place stinks of antiseptic and blood, strong enough to make him want to retch; or maybe that’s just the memories sneaking up on him, smelling the iron of basement pipes and his own ruined life.

“Oh God...” He rushes back to the supply pantry and shuts the door behind him. Perhaps if he pretends he's looking for something, he can breathe until he doesn't feel like punching something anymore.

XXX

Hours later, all but four patients are gone. Many were taken to the hospital, but a few with minor injuries managed to go home. Those who remain are sleeping in the exam rooms, finally stable. Most of the volunteers have gone as well, except for Mattias and Luk. They’re gathered in the kitchen with Tino and Berwald, finishing off Tino’s hot turkey sandwiches. Unfortunately, while the rest of them are exhausted beyond measure, Matt has managed to get himself so up that Luk is having trouble keeping him in his seat. Eventually, Luk gathers him together so they can leave - but not before Matt kisses Tino's cheek and calls him _baby doll_.

Berwald growls under his breath, but Lukas touches his arm takes him aside. “He doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s been a long night. Will you be ok?”

The doctor raises an eyebrow. “Yes. And you?”

“Yes. I’m tired, but I can get us home.”

“That’s not…” Berwald sighs and shifts awkwardly. “I wish you’d stay with us. You’re still healing.”

Luk shakes his head. “I’m alright. It's almost six; I need to take Emil to school, then I’ll sleep.” After a night like this, part of him wants nothing more than to keep his brother at home. However, keeping Emil in the apartment when Matt’s this high is a recipe for an argument, at the very least, and the school is one of the safest places this side of town. He pats Berwald’s arm. “Get some rest. You work twice as hard as the rest of us, and I have a feeling you’ll see more patients before the day is over.”

Before Bernie can respond, Lukas pulls away and drags Matt to the front door. Berwald follows them, watching as they get in the car and drive away. He stands in the doorway until they're out of sight, almost wishing he could follow them to keep Luk and Emil safe from Mattias, and whatever monster is out there paving the streets with blood. If he could just take one step outside, perhaps he could do more, rejoin the world and try to make it better.

Bernie raises his hand beyond the doorframe. A cool breeze weaves through his fingers, and a light rain settles over his arm like the touch of a ghost. His heart gives a sharp tug and he snatches his hand back. He shuts the door and locks up; there's a bell if anyone needs him.

He heads back to the kitchen to help Tino clean up, and is surprised to find it empty. “Tino?” he calls.

There’s no answer, so Berwald checks the waiting room, the exam rooms, and the closet with no luck. He starts to panic. What if Mattias grabbed Tino while he was talking to Lukas, put him in the car and then came back? Or what if Matt’s gotten so deep into Luk’s head, he got Luk to distract Bernie on purpose? _And_ _he just let them drive away_!

Bernie’s breath hitches and he presses his forehead against the wall. Oh God, what's he going to do? Call the police? They're not going to do a damn thing, not with everything else that’s been going on. Call Emil? No, he can’t make a child handle this. He needs to save Tino himself.

Berwald makes his way back to the front door, hands shaking. He's going to put an end to this. He’ll run after them, he’ll go outside and...well, he'll make it outside first, and then decide what to do. Determined, he unlocks the door and throws it open.

Tino stares back at him, one hand raised to knock. He’d taken the bags of trash and waste out back to the dumpster, unable to watch Matt stagger out the door. It brought back too many awful memories. But when he’d turned to go back inside, he realized he’d let the back door lock behind him. When he went around the side of the house, the front door turned out to be locked too.

“Bernie?” he says softly, taking a step back. The man looks like he’s preparing to go to war or something. But there’s a strange expression on the man’s face, and Tino realizes that Berwald is scared. Of what, he doesn't know.

Shocked, Berwald reaches back into the misty rain. This time, he touches solid, warm flesh, and a huge wave of relief washes over him. He grabs Tino by the shoulders and pulls him inside, wrapping him tight in his arms. “Y're alright!”

Tino’s eyes widen at the sudden burst of affection, and he happily lets himself be pulled against the man's warm, strong body. He wants nothing more than to sink into him, to enjoy the moment as one more so-close, yet so-far. But he can't keep doing this to himself. He pushes back after a moment, then steps into the house and locks the door behind him.

“Bernie, calm down!” Tino laughs. He brushes up against the doctor as he moves to the counter where his half-eaten dinner (breakfast?) waits. He sighs, dropping against the counter. “God, you must be exhausted. No wonder you're so jumpy.”

Berwald follows him slowly. His legs feel like jelly and his hands are shaking like he needs a drink. He sits down at the table instead, frowning at the nurse. “I thought he took you.”

Tino’s nerves prick at that, and he squares his shoulders. “He wouldn't,” he says, but without real conviction. He isn’t sure that’s true, but he does know that Mattias was far too busy tonight to do anything of the sort. Still, the fact that Bernie thought it could happen - that irks him. “We've been done for ages. How many times do I have to say it?”

“You're done. He isn't,” Berwald replies through his teeth. “I can't let that happen. I can't...I can't lose you!”

Tino shakes his head slowly, like he's talking to a child who does not understand. “You're not going to lose me. You're not. Mattias is nothing to worry about.” He rubs his cheek anyway, as though he's trying to remove all trace of that kiss. “I've told him no. He can't lay a finger on me. If he does, you'll hear his screams from across the city, trust me. I've moved on.” Without his permission, Tino’s cheeks flame. He looks away in search of something to keep the embarrassment from showing. “I can defend myself.”

“I know.” Berwald looks away, too, so that Tino can't see his eyes water. “But you can't defend yourself from everything. No one can. Sometimes you need help, and others...fate's just cruel.”

“Not as cruel as people,” Tino replies. He turns away completely to set his meal in the fridge. He wants to stop feeling these things, stop stirring himself up over the way Bernie frets over him. He made everyone swear not to tell Berwald about Mattias for a reason. He wanted it behind him, and he knew the moment Bernie found out he’d see Tino as a pitiful little lamb in need of protecting, rather than a capable nurse. “Just... Please. Stop it. I don't want you thinking of me like this anymore.”

“Like what?” Bernie asks, feeling himself go cold all over.

“I'm not something you should pity, or worry about, or fuss over, I just- I want-” Tino stops, rubbing a hand over his face as he breathes in and out, unsteady but still alive. “Look, it's been a long night; let’s just get some rest. I'll take the sofa by the door. If someone needs us, I'll hear it.”

“Pity?” Berwald blinks. He is protective of Tino, yes, but he has never pitied him – at least, no more than he has pitied anyone else. The way he feels about Tino has changed so much over the years, even over the past few months. It's the first time he's ever let himself consider loving someone new. What he feels for Tino is different than what he felt for Victor, but that is because they are different people. _He's_ a different person now, one he isn't sure his late husband would like.

Perhaps because he’s too tired to think it through, Berwald tries to explain the one thing that he’s never been able to tell Tino before. “Tino, I don’t pity you. It’s just, I like you a lot more than I should, and I never want to see you hurt again. I worry because I like you.” His brain finally catches up with his tongue, and Berwald blushes crimson. He stands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I'll just go to bed now.”

Tino stares. Blinks. Rubs his hands over his face and stares again, because clearly, _clearly_ he's mishearing things. “You what?” he asks, reaching out to keep Berwald from leaving the kitchen. “You _like_ me, Bernie?”

Berwald takes a deep breath, then looks Tino straight in the eye. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I promise I won’t hurt you or touch you at all; I just hope you won't leave. I would...” He scratches the back of his head, not sure what he can say after all of this that would convince Tino to stay. “It's selfish, but I would miss you.”

Tino holds his gaze, the words tingling from the tips of his fingers all the way up to his hairline until he's grinning like a clown, unable to stop himself. This has been a terrible night, but those words make it worth all of that and more. He tugs Bernie closer, snatching the man’s sleeve to keep him there. “Bernie, I've liked you for a very, _very_ long time.”

Berwald’s eyes widen a little, honestly surprised. “Why? I don' have much, I’m no good at talking, and I can't even go outside. You...you’re wonderful.”

Tino shakes his head, leaning into Bernie as he pulls him closer. “You're the kindest, gentlest person I know, and you make me happy. Everything you do makes me happy. I-” He can't bring himself to say the words, not just yet. Not until he's completely sure of this. He blushes softly. “I really, really like you.”

Bernie’s heart balloons inside of his chest. He hasn't felt this happy in a long, long time. “You’re wonderful,” he repeats. They smell like antiseptic and they're both exhausted by a hopeless night, yet just holding Tino lifts Bernie above despair.

Tino’s exhale is slow, uneven; he's not even sure when he breathed in all that air. “You're wonderful,” he murmurs. He leans up to take Bernie’s face in his hands and angle his chin for a kiss.

Their lips meet gently, almost by accident. There's something so simple about it that it just...happens. Berwald doesn't even think about it until they're actually standing there, arms around one another and _kissing_. It feels amazing, even though Bernie’s sure he's doing it wrong. He's always been awkward about these things. But Tino is warm and smooth, beautiful.

Tino takes his chances, kissing Bernie's mouth and breathing him in, _finally_. His hands slide from Bernie’s cheeks to his neck so they can sink together. Tino doesn’t care that it's been so long he can barely remember how to move his lips. It feels comfortable, easy. As if everything is clicking into place.

The slide of Tino's tongue over his lips strikes something in Berwald’s memory. It's been years since he kissed someone at all, let alone like this. The last time he kissed someone in this kitchen-

_There’s a sloppy kiss from Peter, and then a sweet one from Victor. “We'll see you in an hour.” They get into the car, and-_

Berwald gasps, whipping back and away from Tino. All of the good feelings that were keeping him afloat drain out of him in a rush. That was the last time he saw them, and now he's kissing Tino right here, in the same spot! His hands shake as he glances from the pictures of his dead husband, to his dead boy, and back to Tino. “I’m sorry! I can't!”

Tino is dazed for a second, but he comes crashing to earth the moment he sees Bernie's face pale with grief. “Bern...?” He trails off, not sure what to say or do. Is this his fault? “Why?” he asks.

Bernie’s throat closes up so that he can't even manage to explain. All he can do is shake his head, and the sad, confused look in Tino's eyes makes it even worse. Unable to get a solid grip on one sane thought, Bernie flees up the steps to the sanctuary of his apartment.

“Bernie!” Tino calls after him, flying up the steps and trying to catch up. He knows he’s invading a near sacred space, but he needs to know what just happened. They were so close just now, so close to everything he's been dreaming of for the last six years.

Berwald doesn’t think about where he's going; his body carries him to a room at the end of the hall and he winds up slamming the door because he can't slow down enough to close it properly. He only stops when he reaches the bed. It’s still covered in pretty blue sheets with boats and buoys on them, kept as meticulously clean as the rest of the house. Although the sheets are clean and the room is free of dust, the rest of it is disorganized. Toys are strewn all over the room, allowed to remain exactly as Peter left them. There’s a little ark, its animals paired up with dinosaurs; a racecar lying on its side; toy soldiers in the middle of a battle; and on the bed sits a stuffed green rabbit. Peter's favorite toy.

Bernie sits on the edge of the bed and clutches the bunny to his chest. With his face buried in the green fur, he breathes in. Even after all this time it smells like his son. He could never wash this toy; he couldn’t even fix the tear in its ear, the only sign it was a part of the accident that took his family away.

Just outside the door, Tino’s heart is cracking. They were _so close_ , and now... His throat tightens. Bernie probably doesn’t want to see him right now, but he needs to try. He takes hold of the doorknob and turns it, opening the door just a crack. Peering inside, he can see Berwald curled around that stuffed green bunny, holding it tight and weeping into its fur. He shuts the door slowly and heads back downstairs, vision blurred with tears. It seems they are doomed to be haunted by the past.


	49. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vosh reviews the newest outbreak of violence, but with the tension between Alfred and Matthew and Arthur's increasingly obvious addictions, the team is falling apart. He has more luck making a deal with Roderick, though the piano man's loyalties remain unclear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! You are all wonderful <3 And thank you for your patience - we know there's a long wait between chapters, but we have no intentions of abandoning this!

Vosh is on his fourth cup of coffee today, and it's not yet eight o'clock. Or rather, it's _already_ eight o'clock. He hasn't been home since yesterday morning, and other than a twenty minute nap around 5 AM he hasn't slept either. It's worse than the night Gilbert Beilschmidt was killed. The body count is higher this time and still rising. Vosh’s head aches; he takes yet another prescription-strength pain reliever that might get him through until lunch if he's lucky. There's a knock at the door, and he gathers himself up. “Come in.”

Alfred swings through the door, Arthur and Mattie not far behind him. He completely ignores Mattie, still kind of uncomfortable with him. He’s not really angry anymore, he just can't put the thought of him with _that guy_ out of his mind.

“'Sup, Chiefster?” Alfred asks, throwing himself into the middle seat in front of the desk.

Arthur sags into the seat to his left. _Soddin' hell_ , he thinks. He shouldn't be here. Everything's a brighter color than it should be, and there’s a little green bunny whispering in his ear, telling him that he's a bad, bad boy. Fuck. He should not have snorted... whatever that was. But how was he to know that someone would go on a fucking spree?

Sighing a little, Arthur rolls his head back over the seatback, wondering if he can sneak a nap in. “Bloody fuck... s'a nightmare.”

Mattie could not agree more. The body count is rising, Holly is somewhere out in that mess, Alfred won't talk to him, and Arthur is clearly on something. Again. He's getting one of _Vosh's_ migraines from it all. He sits quietly, trying to take it all in. There are new pictures on the chief's walls, lines drawn between them with notes taped to every link, and they're _still_ stuck.

Vosh observes his team with no little disappointment. Not one of them is looking right, and it's just when he needs them most. He sighs, and offers each a cup of coffee from his personal stash. “Drink up. I need you alert today. I'm sure you heard there's been a fresh slew of bodies?”

Foofoo perches on Arthur's shoulder, smacking his face with two little green paws. “Wake up, Artie!” the figment giggles. “It's time to go to work. They might need you to act like a professional!”

Arthur tries to swat the thing as he throws himself up into a proper posture - if not into an entirely proper state. He takes the coffee, swallowing every last drop even though it burns his throat. “Right.”

“Oh yeah!” Alfred grabs one of the cups happily, in a very cheerful mood. _The only thing that could make this day better would be seeing Holly Nethers in a pool of his own blood._ Alfred stiffens. He's not sure where that thought came from, and he doesn't want to think about it. He shoots a glance to Mattie, then turns back to the chief and forces his smile. “Looks like somebody's finally cleaning house.”

“I wouldn't call it cleaning,” says Vosh. He slings several photos across his desk, all of bloody crime scenes. “They're not even trying to be careful, but it's such a mess we can barely keep up. Someone’s been tampering with the evidence before we get there. And here's the real kicker: it seems Natalia Braginski was killed last night, but we haven't got a body or real witnesses to prove it. It's all rumors. I'll need your help to get to the bottom of that one. Use your contacts. You've got a few at the bar, don't you Jones?”

“Uh-huh, I know a guy.” Alfred winks at Vosh and gives him a thumbs up. Ivan has been very, very helpful, and Alfred is glad to know he’s really on their side. If his sister really died, maybe it has something to do with Ivan’s undercover work! He should bring the family flowers or something. Ivan must be totally beside himself.

Arthur doesn't even bother to try and guess the meaning behind that wink. He's got other problems. The coffee isn't helping, and that damn bunny keeps pulling at his hair, trying to wake him up. “Blast it-!” he curses, throwing his hand up to shoo the thing away.

Vosh glares. “Problem, Kirkland?”

“Oooh, you’re in trouble now!” says Foofoo. It flitters away to land on Vosh's head. “Can I bounce on him? I bet it would be funny if I bounced on him.”

“God, no, don't bou-” Arthur covers his mouth as the bunny does just that, knowing he looks like a fool.

Matthew cuts in before the chief can throw them all out of the office. “What he means is don't _bother_ , we understand the situation is tense. How do you want to handle things?”

“Pull yourselves together, for a start!” Vosh snaps, sharp enough to make all three sit up straighter. He should fire Kirkland here and now. But when he's sober, the man is damn useful; it’s a shame to see him like this. “I want to know if Natalia's death is revenge for the Beilschmidts and Karpusi. Alfred, what have you got on Ivan Braginski?”

Alfred doesn't know why Vosh is asking him, when Ivan's probably sent in a full report on the Beischmidt case by now. Plus, he doesn’t want to blow Ivan’s cover in front of Mattie and Arthur. “You know. Everything,” Alfred says. He waits for Vosh to get it, but the chief only looks more confused. “ _Everything_ ,” he repeats, eyebrows raised for emphasis. Vosh raises just one eyebrow in return. Alfred sighs and decides that telling the story Ivan told him couldn’t hurt. “Ivan went after Hans the night he died, but he got waylaid. Apparently his kid was involved with a dealer, and everyone _should_ know that’s bad news.”

Vosh nods. It matches the reports so far, though there are plenty of unreliable witnesses who swear they saw Braginski at the scene of the crime. “I still think he’s a suspect, especially given the latest spree, but so far we don’t have the evidence to bring him in. Matthew, you were tailing that dealer who works for Yao Wang. Did you learn anything from him? There was a very clear threat from Wang in Mr. Karpusi's phone records.”

Alfred snorts at the mention of _tailing_. He looks as far away from Mattie as possible, a sneer planted firmly on his face.

Mattie swallows. He never should have mixed work with his personal life. The thing is, Holly is not what he expected a dealer to be. He isn’t a bad guy or a creeper, he’s just a man. A _good_ man, with some bad habits and a bad job. It makes it difficult to talk about him like an informant and a suspect. “I saw the phone records, but Ho- my contact didn't think Mr. Wang was involved. Or at least, he wasn't _directly_ involved. It's possible he gave an order.”

Alfred rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Mattie. Maybe the butler did it.”

“We've already looked into Sebastian Michaelis. We can't find a trace of him at the scene,” says Vosh. It may be cliché, but it was necessary. They have reason to believe the butler does a lot of Wang’s dirty work. Unfortunately, it is very clean dirty work. He sighs. “So far, Wang doesn’t appear to have the motive to kill anyone but Heracles Karpusi. Gilbert bought plenty of drugs from him, and he achieved nothing through the death of Hans – unless we can find a connection between them and the senior Mr. Wang. Someone needs to talk to Kiku again, and we need to see if anyone at the Rainbow knows anything about Natalia Braginski. Which brings me to...Kirkland?”

In Arthur’s eyes, Foofoo is zooming around the room. It stops suddenly, floating right in front of Artie's face. “Better pay attention! Bad things happen when you're not looking, you know. People get hurt. Look out, Artie, look out!”

“I'm-- I'm looking! I'm looking!” Arthur covers his face, his mind flashing to that night, how fast it all was, Oh God-- “ _No_!”

“Arthur!” Vosh shouts, shocked by the reaction. “Did something happen? Did you see something?”

“I'm looking, I'm looking, I'm looking at everything, I _swear_!” Arthur covers his face, shaking his head in sheer terror. The bunny is laughing at him, laughing because it knows. “I need to go!” Arthur stumbles to his feet and flees.

Vosh stares after him. There's no way he can let Arthur keep his job when he shows up to work this wasted, unless he comes up with another miracle like La Citta’s horse abuse scandal. But lightning never strikes the same place twice. He turns back to his remaining officers, glowering. “Do either of you have news from La Citta?”

Alfred shakes his head. “Nope. But I'll start digging. Mattie can keep tailing his tail.” He stands, coffee still in hand, and heads out to the bull pen. “See ya, Chiefster.”

Vosh sighs and turns his gaze to Matthew. The poor kid looks terrible. “Look, Williams– Matthew, whatever is going on with you and your partners, I don't want to see it affecting your work. If there's a problem, you tell me and I'll move you all around, but this is a terrible time for it. I need my teams pulling together.” _For whatever it's worth._

Mattie sits up straighter and tries to put a stronger note into his voice. “It won't be a problem, sir. But if I may speak freely, I think we need better eyes in La Citta. Alfred's got the Braginskis, I have a contact involved with the Wangs, and Artie's got...well...”

“The Rainbow. I am well aware that his contacts are more than contacts.” Vosh shakes his head. He does not have time for this nonsense; it’s a good thing Matthew, at least, seems to have his head on straight. “You’re right. La Citta has been difficult to get into lately. However, I myself have a contact or two. For now, I'd like you to keep working the angle you have. The information from Holly Nethers has been helpful. Be careful, though, Williams; he’s more dangerous than he seems.”

Matthew ducks his head. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.” Even though he’s already ruined _that_ relationship, professionally and otherwise. No need to tell Vosh just yet.

Vosh nods. “Good. You are dismissed, I suppose, since no one else thought it was proper to wait.”

XXX

Three hours later the office has quieted. Vosh is on his sixth cup of coffee and his second grocery store doughnut. But very suddenly, the scent of processed sugar is overwhelmed by chicken, lemon, and rice. He looks up to find Roderick at the door, holding up a bag of Thai food and looking grim.

“That had better not be a concealed weapon, because I have hadn't had a decent meal in two days,” says Vosh.

“Well, that depends on what you call a weapon,” Roderick replies. He strides toward the desk with purpose, opening the bag to pull out more than just the Thai food. He begins to clear Vosh's desk of coffee cups and crumbs, then sets out two quilted place-mats. He sets out plates, cutlery, and sturdy glasses that he immediately fills with iced tea. Then he piles Vosh’s plate high with breaded lemon chicken and fried rice. “If I pulled a gun on you you wouldn't flinch, but if I threatened to throw this away I think you'd arrest me.”

“Then don't tempt me,” says Vosh. He wants to protest that he doesn't have time for this little break, but his stomach gives a growl and he's quite sure his head will explode if he doesn't eat something half decent and take another pill soon. “What's all this about?”

Roderick raises an eyebrow. “Last night. And today, obviously. It seems we have a bit of a crusade in the neighborhood, and I'd like to know if you've figured out who's safe and who's not.” He opens a carton of fresh vegetables, using his spoon to dump some on his rice. “Besides, even I know that you haven't eaten since the first body came in.”

“Not true,” Vosh complains. There were the two danishes, more cups of coffee than he can count, and a protein bar. “I appreciate the food, but you know I can't tell you anything. Chances are you know more than I do anyway.”

“Then what if I offer an exchange?” Roderick suggests. He dumps some vegetables onto Vosh's plate, ignoring the fact that Vosh is looking at it as though the devil made it appear.

Vosh frowns. “Deals are written down and signed – around here, they’re usually called plea bargains.” He sits back, afraid to touch the food in case Roderick decides he is owed for all this.

Roderick waves that off, crossing one leg over the other and setting his jaw. The chief may be immune to his every charm, but he's not leaving here without at least one answer. “All I want to know is if my friends are safe.”

“Your business friends or your family friends?” Vosh asks carefully. This is a bad idea, but if there's a way to get some information and maybe save a few lives...well, he's starting to believe that sometimes the rules need to be bent.

Roderick’s lips twitch bitterly; he already knows his family friends are far from safe. “My business friends.” He reaches over and steals a bite of Vosh's chicken, just to prove it isn't poisoned. “Eat. You're starving, and it's getting cold.”

Vosh takes a careful bite, if only to prevent himself from scarfing down the entire plate. “No one from your hotel has turned up injured or dead, nor any of your profession. I do not believe they are involved with this particular instance.”

Relief slides through Roderick fast and easy. At least now he can call Liza, tell her they’ll be safe if they stay locked down. They'll find a way to recover. “Thank you.”

“As for your family...” Vosh narrows his eyes, determined to make this deal will work both ways. “I hear some interesting things are going on. Plenty of their lower-level associates have turned up dead, along with a few important employees.”

“Yes.” His lips twitch again, and Roderick begins playing with his food, cutting it into smaller and smaller pieces. “It was an interesting night. We... I was playing in the lower section of the lounge, and I heard a very loud 'pop'.” He says it innocently, as though he doesn't know what a gun sounds like. “There was a commotion outside, then quiet. Then my cousin Ludwig came to see me, quite distraught.”

Vosh starts taking notes, although the smell of that food makes him wish he could eat and write at the same time. “Indeed? Was someone injured?”

“The dog, Blackie. She was Gilbert's, fell into Ludwig’s care - at any rate, they fed her a bit of sausage from Ludwig’s plate. Poor thing fell over and died.”

“Only the dog was killed?” Vosh asks, carefully watching Roderick’s expression. This could be just the lead they need.

Roderick crosses his arms tightly over his chest. “You're missing the point. The sausage was from _Ludwig's_ plate. No one else touched it.”

“So you said. It sounds as though Ludwig got very lucky. However, I am looking for a different body,” Vosh replies. “I have been told Natalia Braginski was also killed last night, but I never believe anyone is dead around here until I've seen the body myself. I’m wondering if she was around the casino recently. She has a history of being around tragic accidents.”

“Yes, she has a knack for those. As for her whereabouts, I couldn’t say. Relations between the Braginskis and the Beilschmidts have never been particularly warm,” Roderick says, leaning back in his chair and sipping his iced tea. Surely the chief can connect the dots, see the pattern between one murder and the next. It's plain that he'd like to stick his nose into this, so Roderick might as well try to point him in an appropriate direction. “Perhaps you should go to La Citta and speak with my cousin.”

Vosh shakes his head. “You have no idea how much I'd like to do that. Unfortunately, it's a task I must delegate while I sift through the rest of last night's fiasco - not that your cousin is ever very forthcoming.” Still, Roderick’s information is very useful. He has little doubt that Natalia Braginski tried to kill Ludwig, and died in the attempt. He wonders if she acted alone or on Ivan's orders. Probably the later, though the woman had plenty of her own enemies.

Roderick grits his teeth, exasperated. Obviously, Vosh does not want his help, and he's not very grateful for the food either. He slides to his feet and begins to pack his half of the meal back into the cartons. “Well, then. I'm sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Roderick-” Vosh starts to waylay him, but then realizes he has no reason to. At least, not one that could be considered professional. “Thank you,” he says instead.

The look in his eyes is one Roderick knows well from years in the business. _"Another time, another place, if only, if only..."_ It wrenches him, but it makes the brush-off hurt a little less. He lets his lips quirk in a tiny smile. “I'm putting this in the fridge in your break room. I want you to eat all of it before the day is out, or I'll never speak to you again. Then think how sad you'll be, moping about this office without a friend to call your own.”

Vosh almost smiles. “Are you calling us friends? That's a dangerous thing for a man like you.”

Roderick smiles a little wider and touches Vosh's cheek, skimming his fingertips over that soft flesh before the chief can slap his hand away – which he does not even move to do. Progress. “I live on the edge,” he quips, then tucks the last of the iced tea in with the meal. “I'll be back at ten PM tonight. If this isn't eaten, I will force-feed it to you.”

“That I would like to see. I’m fairly certain my officers would laugh, rather than arrest you,” Vosh replies as he finally takes another bite.

Roderick laughs, turning away and carrying the food to the fridge. He'll make good on that promise, he tells himself, so long as Vosh doesn't shoot him first. Strange, how it thrills him to even think of seeing him again so late at night, even if it is at a police station.   



	50. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig buries Gilbert's dog beside his brother, and Arthur must finally face the ghost of a past that refuses to rest in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! We really enjoy hearing from you! This chapter is a bit short, but it does finally resolve at least one of the story's mysteries - at least if you haven't already guessed it from the end of chapter 48.

They buried Blackie beside her master. Gilbert would have wanted nothing less for his faithful companion, loyal to the end. The only trouble was that it felt like they were living through Gilbert's funeral all over again. It awoke the pain, reminded Ludwig that his brother was never going to play rough with Blackie and ruin his nice clean apartment, or drink them completely out of beer, or tease him until they were both laughing. He never realized just how much he liked hearing Gil laugh.

It's very quiet in the cemetery now. Feliciano and the others left about an hour ago to deal with the bodies gathering on their doorstep and the notes left to warn them like the thunder of a coming storm. It’s time he joined them. He can’t look at this headstone anymore. Seeing Gil's name on it... It hurts. It makes tears sting hot at the edges of his eyes.

Ludwig swallows hard and starts to turn away, but then he spots something out of the corner of his eye. He turns back, scanning the cemetery. There, on the hill; there’s something moving. He stiffens, his hand flying to his gun. He's not going to be taken out here, not over his brother's grave.

Up on the lonely hill, Arthur finds himself waking up in an all-too-familiar place. His head rests on a cold grey tombstone, his body swaying and lurching even though he isn’t actually moving. He can see the whole cemetery from this hill, but his vision is blurred and his head is spinning. Instead he looks to the sky, a kaleidoscope of blue through the branches of the grave's guardian tree. He can’t tell if he’s still high or simply that hung over. He went too far last night, and he knows he’s lucky to be alive.

The green bunny studies Arthur from one of the branches above him. “Wakey-wakey eggs and bakey, Artie! You've really snapped this time. You know that, right?”

Arthur’s head feels rather like an egg, cracked and set aside to split later. He stares at the bunny, watching it watch him, and decides that he doesn't have the brain power to question it. “I have,” he agrees. “S'your fault.”

The bunny snorts, its little nose quivering. “Of course it isn't, silly. It's _your_ fault. Do you even know where you are?”

“Of course I do...” Arthur trails off, turning his head slowly to look at the names upon the tomb. He stares, his eyes blurring with tears as he thinks about it. _In Loving Memory..._ His throat tightens. _Victor and Peter Oxenstierna_. _Beloved husband, cherished son. Too soon lost..._

He remembers it. He remembers the day it happened, the grizzly scene he could only pretend to be outraged by. The riots in the streets, the gay community making a hate crime out of a hit and run. Because that's all it was: a hit and run. “I didn't... want to...”

The bunny drops down to sit on the grave, putting his face up close to Arthur's. “You visit me more often than anyone else, you know. Daddy never comes at all. That's your fault. It's all your fault!” It lifts its wings and flies around the headstone, shouting, “Artie is a murderer, a murderer!”

“I'm _not_!” Arthur cries out, covering his ears with his hands. “I'm not, not, NOT! I never wanted to kill anyone! I never wanted to- Oh God, I never should've driven, I never should've-!”

“You can't even say it, can you? You’re a murderer _and_ a coward!” says the bunny. It lands lightly on Arthur’s shoulder and noses its way to his ear, still covered by Arthur’s hands. But there is nothing that can block out that sweet little voice, not when Arthur is the only one who can hear it. “Hey Artie. What's my name? I've been dead for so long. Does anyone remember?”

“PETER! Peter- Oh God!” he cries out, rolling over and pressing his head against the cold, unforgiving stone. He feels like he might vomit, but the ghost is unrelenting. He'll never be left alone. He'll never be forgiven, not ever. “I didn't mean to kill you. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't thinking, and I was so high I didn't even see the other car. I never meant to hurt you, I swear to God!”

“Say my name Artie! Say it and remember! I'll never let you forget, never ever.” The bunny rolls onto its back, looking at Arthur upside down. “Even if the whole world forgave you, you'd never forgive yourself. So say my name. Tell me what you did. Over and over and over and over!” With a laugh the bunny starts zooming around the headstones, singing, _“Artie killed the Peter-bird, the Peter-bird, the Peter-bird! Artie killed the Peter-bird and left the doctor all alone!”_

“I DIDN'T MEAN TO!” Arthur yells at the top of his lungs. “I was so high, I never saw the car! How was I to know you were hurt?! I shouldn't've- I never wanted to hurt anyone, I never-! Please, Peter! I was going so fast, I just didn't see-” He pauses, a new desperation taking over as he glares at the bunny. “ _You_! You shouldn't have been there! You were the one in the way of my car, you and your daddy in your _stupid_ black Mercedes, cruising along at night, as if you had any business going out so late!” He knows he's just angry with himself now, practically a raving lunatic. It isn't fair. It isn't _fair_! Why is he the one living with this? He never meant to kill them. It was an accident - pure stupidity!

The anguished shouting echoes across the cemetery, stopping Ludwig in his tracks. He’s just a few feet away now, peering out from behind one of the taller headstones as he tries to work out what he’s seeing. This is no assassin. It's just that cop, Arthur something. The man’s in Yao's pocket these days, as far as Ludwig knows, which makes sense given the scene before him. Arthur is lying on a grave and raving like a lunatic. It's pathetic, really, but something about it... And then Ludwig realizes where they are.

His eyes widen. Peter. The cop is saying _Peter_. Ludwig remembers that. He remembers the picture that flashed all over the news: that little boy with his green bunny, hugging his fathers - plural. Feliciano had been absolutely rabid at the time. He'd set up some kind of fund to reward anyone with information, and he wasn’t the only one. Everyone had wanted the culprit's head on a platter.

Arthur is on his knees now, holding onto the grave as if the stone itself holds his salvation. Ludwig’s stomach churns with the sick display, but deep down he's intrigued. And now he's armed with the kind of ammunition that one never has anymore: a full-on, heavily inebriated confession. Slowly, he approaches the sad wretch of a man. “So you're the one,” he says, half-amused, half-grave.

Arthur frowns at the new voice. This one is sharp and hard and... _real_. He jolts, scrambling up against the tombstone as he realizes it is, in fact, one of the worst people he could possibly run into. Ludwig Bielschmidt. The Cleaner. “I- I have- I don't know what you're talking about.” It's no use. Ludwig is giving him a stern, very hard look, and Arthur can already tell he's fucked.

“Oooh, you're in trouble now!” The flying bunny laughs gleefully and swoops down to land on Ludwig's shoulder. It adopts the same face as the man, stern and scolding, and shakes one paw like a pointed finger. “Bad, bad boy Artie.”

“You're the one who killed the doctor's family,” Ludwig continues. He offers Arthur a cruel, mean-spirited smile, since he is in no mood to be nice. “There are a lot of people who still remember that, you know.”

Arthur’s heart is thudding, head spinning – he might actually faint. “I didn't- It was... It was an accident, I swear to God! I never saw them coming, I just turned and they were there, and I-” His eyes well with tears and he chokes, his hands coming up to cover his face. “Are you going to kill me?”

Ludwig considers this for a moment. He could, but what a waste of a perfectly good piece of blackmail that would be. “No,” he says lightly. He offers the cop a hand, though he really can't stand the thought of those grubby fingers touching his skin. “I can think of a better use for you.”

Arthur looks up, his eyes widening at the sight of that hand. It's a rope - a lifeline. Perhaps something that can drag him out of this hole. He takes it like the salvation that it is and climbs to his feet, preparing himself to do whatever Ludwig asks. After all, anything's better than death, right?


	51. Suicide Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella and Toris have a talk at the bar regarding Bella's relationship with Katyusha Braginski. Back at the Braginski manor, Yao confronts Ivan but fails to bring closure to the man's violent rampage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos! They're the best kind of encouragement. 
> 
> Due to popular demand we've added a little scene with Bella in this chapter (also because we realized this story does not have enough of the ladies). Since it's been a while since we introduced her, here's a **recap:** Bella is Belgium, Holly's (Netherlands) sister who has been working at Ivan's bar since the beginning of the story.

The week of hell that rained down upon the city after the death of Natalia Braginski has driven everyone to seek safety where they can find it. But no one is safe enough. Bodies and injuries are piling up, so many that the police are having a hard time covering ground. Ivan has been relentless, taking the city apart piece by piece with no one to hold him back. Even Katyusha, who usually keeps her siblings in check, has done nothing to stop the violence, though whether that is due to grief-borne apathy or the waking of her own vengeance few could say.

Bella has barely been home in the past few days. Toris has had his hands full handling Ivan and the boys, which has left her as the only full-time manager at the bar. Ivan did finally higher a few more bartenders, but since she doesn't speak Russian communication has been difficult, and none of them know the bar as well as she does. She hasn't even had time to leave more than a brief message for Kat, and she desperately wants to go and see her. Holly keeps telling her it’s a bad idea, but her brother has little room to judge given his history with the Dragon.

It's well into her shift when Toris comes rushing through the door, bags in hand. He has been working for Ivan all day, and his stop at the bar is just one more errand of a thousand. "Hey!" He waves to Bella and flashes past her to the back room where he will change.

Bella hasn't had any updates all day and she's not about to let Toris rush out again without some answers. She's tired of being left in the dark - by Kat, by her brother, by everyone. She follows Toris into the back. "Toris?"

"Hey, I-" Toris has too many things in his hands, too many things on his mind. It takes him a minute to realize that Bella is looking for more than a ‘hello.’ He’s one of the few people in the world who know the extent of her relationship with the Braginskis – or rather with one Braginski in particular. He straightens, turning to look at her. "Hey," he says, less rushed. She must be beside herself.

"Here, let me help," she says. She reaches out, taking a few bags from him and wrinkling her nose. Toris reeks of alcohol, and so do most of his bags. "He's still at it, then?"

"Do you think he stops?" Toris sighs, exasperated. He takes off his shirt, reaching into the bags for the less-vodka-soaked one. "I think he has an IV of the stuff for when he sleeps."

Bella rubs at her arms, feeling the remnants of her own demons itch. When she realizes she's doing it, she forces her hands to still and takes a closer look at Toris. "He's not hurting you, is he? I mean, I've heard...the people here talk...I know what he's been doing. Is he hurting you, too?"

"He- He's not hurting me. No," Toris says quietly. Far from it. Ivan has been more than cautious with everyone in his household. He had a car take Toris literally everywhere today. He's had extra tails on his sons, and his men were given strict orders not to go anywhere without two others. "Everyone here is protected," he adds, trying to dissuade any doubts for her own safety.

Bella nods, then looks away. She and Toris used to talk more when they were both behind the bar. He told her about Feliks, and in turn she told him about Kat. She never said the name, exactly; Kat had insisted they be discrete before she decided even a clandestine relationship was too dangerous. But Toris has always been perceptive and it was nice to have someone she could trust. Bella trusts him still, even if his loyalties have changed. Besides, she _needs_ to know. Kat loves her siblings more than anything in the world, has always put them above her own needs. It used to make Bella angry since it meant that Kat refused to see her publically, refused to _acknowledge_ that they could ever be something more.  None of that seems to matter as much now. "And, um, Kat? How is she?"

"Yes... Um..." Toris shifts. Kat has not been seen outside her room at all today, and rarely during the rest of the week. He's been worried about her too, and he's not even her ex. He shakes his head. "She's not talking to anyone. She wants to be left alone right now," he says, though he doubts it. That's Ivan's party line: everyone wants to be left alone.

Bella's fingers tap against the side of a shelf, her nails clicking against the wood. "She needs someone. She and Natalia were so close. She always said it was her job to protect her siblings, no matter what. I should...I'll come by later, when we close up. Ivan knows me and the guards all come to the bar."

"No." Toris says immediately, stepping back. If Bella gets anywhere near the house now Ivan will have her shot, friend or no. "Now's not the time. Trust me. If you come tonight it’s not going to end well unless Kat meets you, and she's not taking any calls right now. You really don't wanna try."

The tapping stops, Bella's fingers resting on her hip instead. "I do. You of all people must understand. When you take care of everyone else, that's when you most need someone to take care of you."

The words make Toris stiffen. "I don't know what you're talking about. And for that matter, neither do you. You need to stay away right now, Bella. From all of this."

"Ah yes, working in a Braginski bar every night. I'll definitely be safe here," Bella replies. "By the way, that cop Alfred keeps coming by to offer his condolences. And to listen. Not that I want to be involved either way, but he's not as big a fool as he seems; he's going to catch on if this keeps up. I am not going down with this ship."

Toris grits his teeth. "Bella, if you're thinking about ratting on Ivan, I wish you luck. But you won't have time to use it."

The sentence is barely out of his mouth before Bella shoves him back against the wall, glancing over her shoulder before she hisses, "I'm not an idiot. You should know better than to say a thing like that." She releases him and lets out a frustrated sigh. "I'm just tired of seeing my friends end up dead."

Toris shoves her back, his jaw squaring in anger. "Yeah, well. That's what you get when you choose stupid friends," he says, stress eating away at his usual reserve. He's not dealing with her shit anymore. Kat dealt with enough of it for the both of them while they were together, by all accounts.

Bella is surprised enough by the outburst that she backs off. The words sting, too. It all felt simpler before, when she was getting strung out with her brother, with Gilbert and his crowd, with whoever came around to ask Holly for a score. It wasn't until she met Kat and fell head over heels for the woman that there was anyone in her life who made her think about how dangerous a game she was playing. It wasn't until Kat that she'd really cared. "Maybe," she finally admits. "Just make sure you don't end up being one of the dead ones."

Toris' anger cools. It's clear Bella’s just as scared as he is, for Kat and for herself. He feels a little guilty, but he can't have her hanging around Kat. It would be deadly right now. "You too," he says before turning away from her. He returns to his tasks, trying to forget the last couple of days.

XXX

Yao has been growing concerned since Raivis’ visit. He’s had his own men following Ivan and it is clear that the man is spiraling. The scenes aren’t clean anymore. Ivan’s begun to leave pieces of himself that Yao has to clean up before the cops arrive. He doesn’t want to see Ivan get arrested for sheer foolishness; doesn’t want to see him arrested at all. After finding a torn bit of Ivan’s signature scarf at one of the bloodier scenes, Yao decides it’s time to pay Ivan a visit and plead with him to stop this nonsense.

With Sebastian trailing behind him, he approaches the Braginski compound. The house is so locked down it's practically a fortress. The guards know better than to shoot him on sight, but some of his messengers have not been so lucky.

Yao is luckier than he realizes that he did not meet a similar fate. Grell happens to be on duty when he and her dear Sebastian come knocking at the door, and luckier still that Raivis is at home with Eduard. Ivan’s calmer when his family is at home, and when Ivan is calmer so is everyone else. Grell buzzes them in and greets them at the gate, just to make sure her tense, trigger-happy comrades don't do anything stupid. “Good evening Mr. Wang. Bassie.” She says the second name with a wink.

Sebastian offers his lover a tight smile, tilting his head ever-so-slightly toward Yao so that she knows his own master is in no mood for niceties. He reaches for her anyway, laying a soft touch to her paper-white wrist. “We are here to see Mr. Braginski. Our apologies for arriving unannounced.”

“Well that was a fool thing to do. Lucky your brains are still in your skulls,” says Grell. She leads them into the house, loudly babbling about trivial things until they get away from the heavily guarded door. Then she pauses and lowers her voice. “Never thought I'd say this, but thank the devil you're here. Mr. Braginski is...not himself. If this doesn't end soon, it doesn't matter how much the bribe, what we clean, or who we dispose of. We'll all end up in some nice little cell for a very, very long time. At least until the death sentence! I'm partial to the firing squad, but a hanging could do nicely.”

Sebastian tightens his hand on her wrist, drawing her back against his chest so that they are pressed tightly together with his body enveloping hers. The very thought of her being taken away sends the worst shock through his heart. “You're not going without me,” he whispers into her hair.

This little moment would be perfect for a romance novel, until Sebastian realizes that Yao is no longer with them. Abruptly, he releases Grell and chases Yao down the corridor. “Ah, Master Wang!”

Yao doesn’t stop. He’s fed up with watching Ivan destroy this city, destroy himself, leave bodies in his wake for no other reason than to scare the hell out of everyone that might even think about threatening his family. Yao is not going to clean up after him forever. The man needs to stop, think. Do this the right way: One shot to the German's skull, one for the Spaniard, and three each for the pretty Italians just to make sure they're both actually dead.

It’s only when he reaches Ivan’s office that Yao hesitates. Bursting in is likely to get him shot, at the very least. He opts to knock.

“ _What?_ ”

Yao opens the door very slowly. The room is in a sad state. There are bottles everywhere, papers scattered across the desk and floor, and even a few bloodstains. Ivan himself is gripping a bottle of vodka, apparently debating whether to drink it or toss it at the door. Yao draws himself up. “We need to talk.”

Ivan’s eyes light up. “Yao...you're here.” He rushes to Yao immediately, bottle still in hand, and crushes him back against the door with a violent kiss. The aggression of it is untempered and, on his part, unnoticed.

Yao gasps as Ivan kisses him hard and without preamble. It is a kiss that scares him, full of teeth and aimed at gaining control. He drops the dagger as his wrists are pinned tight to the door, and after the shock wears off Yao fights it. He twists his way free and pulls away with an alarmed sound.

Ivan stumbles back, staring at the other man. There's a too-sweet taste of blood in his mouth, though he's certain none of it is his. The world spins a little, and that tells him he's probably had enough vodka to knock three grown men dead. Not that it matters. He takes a swig from the bottle in his hand and scowls. “What do you want?”

Yao stares at him, stunned. First a kiss that terrifies him, makes him feel weak because he doesn't want to defend himself against this man. Now cold, angry scowls that show off every drop of vodka in Ivan’s blood. He fingers the other knife in his pocket, dreading the idea of pulling it. “An end to this chaos,” he says at last. “Ivan, you cannot continue on this way.”

“It will end,” Ivan growls. “It will end when I have their heads _MOUNTED ON MY WALL_!” He slams his fist down, making everything on his desk jump. An empty bottle shatters on the floor, and he's glad that the full one is still in his hand. He turns suddenly to glare at Yao. “What do you know?”

Yao’s pulse jumps and he can feel Sebastian tensing behind him. He's fairly certain the only thing keeping his butler from trying to restrain Ivan is Grell. Yao moves further into the office, heart thudding as he tries to look brave. He's seen worse, done worse, tangled with worse. But he doesn't want to do this with Ivan. He wants the real Ivan back. “Only what I told your boy, which should make things clear.”

Ivan shakes his head. “Natalia killed a dog at La Citta. This, everyone seems to know. What no one will tell me is who killed _her_.” He puts the vodka down and advances slowly. “No one saw. No one heard. A whole casino full of people and NO ONE knows who pulled the trigger. Oh, I will have them all begging at my feet. But first I want to know who to take apart alive, piece by piece. I will not rest until I find them. I will do whatever it takes to keep my family safe!”

“You're getting sloppy, Ivan!” Yao snaps. Ivan is a king. King, like Yao is, like his father was before him. Kings do not lose sight of what must be done. They sacrifice for the greater goal. They keep things simple. They do not make mistakes like this. “My men have been cleaning up for you all week! The cops are looking for anything: a hair, a piece of metal that links back to your pipe. I pulled a piece of your scarf from a man's mouth this morning _myself_! I won't do it again!”

Ivan pauses, leaning against his massive desk. Yao has a point; the only way to stay on top of this game is to never, ever make a mistake. The police already have a host of circumstantial evidence against him, and if they were not so busy he's certain he would already be calling on his best lawyers. “Perhaps I have been...” He frowns, but just as quickly his blood is burning again. “That is what I hire cleaners for. If they are not doing their job I will set them on fire and hire new ones!”

“ _No_ ,” Yao commands, practically scolding the man. He breathes, stepping closer to the man's desk, careful to expect anything, everything. “This is not the way to bring justice to Natalia's death. You know who did this; if not who pulled the trigger, at least who gave the order. Take care of them, and it's done. You cannot do this anymore.”

“It is not DONE!” Ivan bellows. “It will _never_ be done. There is always someone waiting to take everything from me. I must show them what happens when they hurt my family, from the little worms who squirm on the streets to the ones who sit on their bloody thrones. I can cut off the head, but it will grow a new one. Better to let them see it is not only the ones who give the orders who suffer. It is everyone who touched them. I will show them that their masters are weak. The only one who can protect them is _me._ ”

“Like you protected your _sister_?!” Yao yells, knowing even as he says it that it's the kind of low blow that most would call suicidal. “All the blood in the world will not bring her back. Her death only proves that if someone is as stupidly loyal to you as you want them to be, they wind up dead for want of your love! You might as well kill me now!”

In an instant Yao is on the floor, Ivan's hand still raised over him. “You do not talk of my Natalia!” The hand comes down again, this time taking Yao by the throat and throwing him into the hall. “GET OUT! Get out before I break you!”

Yao does not feel the sting of the first bruising punch until Sebastian's arms are around him, pulling him away and out the door. Ivan stalks after them, shouting, “You do not love me, if you loved me you would be mine, and only mine! I know you, you have you _brother_ , you have your own family, your own kingdom. You will never be mine, so never come back!”

Yao knows Ivan’s drunk and angry, but the words still hurt far worse than any punch Ivan could throw. Sebastian drags him from the Braginski fortress, already on the phone with the Rainbow to demand they move Kiku. Yao couldn't care less about his brother in this moment. Right now, all he wants is to see Ivan alright again.


	52. Rabbits and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Holly and Francis rescue Matthew from a couple of Ludwig's men, the cop's cover is finally blown. Holly is furious, but seeing Mattie again only makes his heartache stronger. Determined to protect his friends, Francis manipulates their emotions in an attempt to get them all to a safe place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos! It's such wonderful encouragement! <3 We have an extra long chapter this time, and the return of a pairing that's gotten some of the most comments. Enjoy!
> 
> Slight **WARNING:** There's a bit of sex at the beginning of this chapter, as well as the mention of drugs throughout.

It's like having sex with a devil – at least, to Francis it is. This man has tempted him into dark places more than once, and not with the use of his ample physical charm. Who can take tomorrow, dip it in a dream? Separate the sorrow and collect up all the cream? The Candy Man can. But for right now it's Francis collecting the cream, his head bowed over Holly's cock, licking the cherry-flavored condom and sucking the man dry as he spasms through an easy orgasm – one aided by a fading high, no doubt. The Candy Man is rarely without his pipe, although tonight he's forgone it in deference to Francis' sobriety.

Francis kisses Holly’s hip and then pulls away, giving Holly a moment to breathe while he disposes of the condom. When he returns to the bed he stretches out next to Holly and turns to look at him. Holly is flushed, but underneath that color he can see the darker circles under his eyes and the sunken shadows of his cheeks. It looks like he's been sick. Francis reaches out to caress his cheek. "You look so pale under that blush. You're going to make me worry."

Holly turns his face to the man, smiling a little and trying to affect a look of complete satisfaction. It had been very nice, yet he still feels unfulfilled, like something’s missing. Someone. He needs more; more to keep that other face from his mind. He pulls Francis closer, wraps his arms around that skinny waist, and rolls the Rose onto his back. "Look who's talking,” he says. "Any skinnier and I'll have to force-feed you myself."

"You just _did_ , my darling." Francis smirks. It's clear to him that Holly is trying to block something out. Francis is very good at supplying a distraction, but he knows that any comfort he provides does not truly heal or last. He and Holly are friends, sometimes, and he wishes he could get him to talk about whatever it is he’s trying to forget. But Holly is paying for a fuck, not a therapy session. Funny how small the difference can be. Francis arches up against Holly's body, brushing his hands carefully over the man’s back. The bruises are fading, but he saw them the moment he removed Holly's shirt.

Sighing softly, Holly lets Francis drag his hands down his ugly mess of a spine, covered in black and brown and purple. He reaches down to touch Francis' cheek, affectionately rubbing a thumb over his lower lip. Holly can read the worry in Francis’ face. Real worry; the kind that comes from seeing through all the bullshit to the coward underneath. "Tell me the truth about something?" he asks

"You want the truth _now_?" Francis laughs, but Holly keeps looking at him, face serious. Perhaps they know one another a little too well to keep up the fantasy, or perhaps Holly simply grows as tired of it as he does. He kisses Holly sweetly, if only so the man cannot see the deepening lines of worry across his forehead. "I am sorry. What do you want to know?"

Holly smiles faintly. He runs his hands down Francis' shoulders and positions himself between his legs as though he intends to rub them both off in that lazy sort of grind curious teenage boys find so thrilling. For him, it's easy. It takes very little effort and brings a satisfying result to both parties. It's the kind of thing friends with benefits would enjoy. Perhaps he should be more adventurous, but right now he can't bring himself to. If he’s honest, he can’t even bring himself to finish this.

Holly closes his eyes with a sigh, collapsing to the side and giving up the ghost. "I met someone, and... Am I the type of guy you'd cheat on somebody with? Am I the guy you leave somebody for?"

Francis pushes himself up on one elbow and stares. Of all the things Holly could have asked, this is not at all what he'd been expecting. He thinks for a moment. Holly is rarely this open with him and he deserves an honest answer. "I think I am the wrong person to ask, given my current occupation," he answers carefully. "However, I am of the opinion that you do not have to love a single individual. But if there is someone you want, you need to fight for them or let them go. How are they to consider you at all if you leave everything to luck?"

Holly frowns, not sure how to answer that. He is saved from any need to reply when a disturbance outside his window makes them both start. Holly tenses, ear toward the window and ready to make a grab for his gun. He never should have asked Francis to make a house call, not with the way the city has blown up recently. But that doesn't sound like the begging or pleading one would hear from an idiot cornered by Ivan Braginski. That sounds more like laughter. Malicious laughter.

"Stay here," Holly commands, resting a hand on Francis' thigh and pushing out of bed.

Francis ignores the order. He’s heard that kind of laugh before and it tends to belong to men who are taking advantage of someone. Nobody walks around unarmed these days, and the Rainbow is hardly safer than Holly’s apartment. Apparently Ivan had a falling out with Yao, and since Kiku refused to leave the Rainbow Sadik has practically taken up residence as a body guard. He’s scared away some customers, but even Liza was glad for the extra muscle. Francis rolls over, pulling on his pants and reaching for his gun.

"Fran-!" Holly presses a hand to Francis' shoulder and tries to push him back towards the bed. Francis simply glares and pushes past him. Shaking his head, Holly grabs his own gun. He pulls on a pair of pants and grabs his shirt on the way out the door.

When they get out the back door of the loft building Holly hears them again - loud, snide. There's a sound like skin-on-skin and his stomach sinks. Asshole thugs, always coming to his neighborhood to rough people up, take their money. They seem to think he shares a camaraderie, an understanding with them. Well, they're wrong. He doesn't take kindly to this shit happening right outside his building. With Francis right behind him, Holly heads to the fence between the alley of his building and the car park. There's two thugs there, cornering some poor kid. "Hey!" He yells, holding up his gun to get their attention.

Both thugs turn fast, ready for a fight. They relax the minute they recognize the dealer, and the first waves at him. "Holly, man! Forgot this was your spot. Hey put that thing down, we're doing you a service. This lying little shit here is a-" The man’s eyes land on Francis and his smile turns into a sneer. "Well, well, sorry to disturb a good time. Why don’t you come back here when you’re finished? Bet I've got something for you."

"Lay off, Gary, we got work to do!" says the second thug. "Sorry, man, we forgot you live around here. Caught this piece of shit cop and had to break him down _somewhere_. Had a hell of a time finding him, but we spotted him sneaking around just down the street. It’s just like Mr. Beilschmidt said: glasses, green jacket, badge in his left boot. He’s scrawny, but he gave us a hell of a fight." He grabs the kid by the back of his jacket and drags him forward.

Holly's about to tell them to take their business someplace else when he realizes that the kid they’ve got in their hands isn’t just anyone. It’s _Mattie_. The one who's been on his mind since the day he left – the one he's been trying to stay away from. He slowly he lowers his gun.

"What...?" he says faintly, his eyes wide. It takes several agonizing seconds for his brain to sort through everything that’s in front of him. A cop? Mattie’s a fucking _cop_? There’s no time to be angry, no time to even _think_ about getting angry. He can’t see Mattie torn to pieces, no matter what he is. Thinking fast, he narrows his eyes and starts shouting. "What the fuck? Who the hell do you think you are, roughing up Mattie? He's one of Yao's boys! He’s gonna fuckin' skin your faces off!"

The thug drops Mattie at the mention of Yao and Francis darts forward just in time to catch him. The unnamed thug glances at his partner, who holds up Mattie’s police badge like it’s a tiny shield. "But- Fuck, man, he's got a badge and everything!"

"Idiots,” Holly snarls. “He _sells_ to cops. Works for Yao, uses the badge in case somebody questions him. Go tell your boss you fucked up so that he can hide you. Yao ain't gonna be happy."

Garry, the thug with the badge, shoves his partner against the wall. "Fuck you, you said that was him! You're gonna get us both killed!" He turns quickly back to Mattie and shoves the badge towards him. "C'mon, man, we got bad info. Not our fault, right? We can make it up to you. Make it like this never happened."

Mattie stares at the badge, fairly certain that he’s hallucinating given the blow to his head and the sudden appearance of his rescuers – especially Holly. He half expects Alfred to appear around the corner and shout something about heroism. Unable to find his voice, he just nods and takes the badge. If he's lucky they'll forget his face. He should really find out if they know how Beilschmidt found out about him, but he has a feeling these thugs know less than he does.

Francis glares at the two men, holding Mattie up with an arm around his waist. " _I_ will take care of him. You run back to La Citta and be grateful if you don't run into the wrong people along the way."

Holly shakes his head as he watches the two idiots flee with no little satisfaction. He moves to Mattie’s other side and helps Francis keep him steady as they maneuver him back inside. Mattie still smells the same – faintly sweet, the same way he tastes. God help him, he thought he could get over this.

Mattie's dazed, but he protests anyway. "I can walk! It's alright!"

Francis laughs, though the sound is tight. "It is _not_ alright. Please, let me return the favor you once did for me."

It's only after they get inside the building that Holly realizes Francis is holding Mattie as protectively as he is. He smiles thinly and does his best to ignore their chatter. He knows that if he doesn’t he'll be suckered in all over again. When they finally make it into his apartment Holly helps settle Mattie on the couch before leaving Francis to look him over. He goes back to the door, turns every lock on it, and moves the closest heavy furniture - a little steel table - to block the door, just in case. Then he heads to his kitchen for the first-aid. "How bad is it, Fran?"

"Nothing seems broken," Francis replies. He eases Matthew's shirt up, ignoring the man’s protests. "Yours is not the first bare chest I’ve seen, my dear, lovely as it is. You're going to have quite the collection of bruises, but I don’t think there's anything that needs to be stitched."

“Great,” Mattie mumbles, uncomfortable in more ways than he can count.

"I think we can take care of him; no need to bother the doctor. No doubt the clinic is overcrowded, anyway," Francis reports as Holly returns.

Holly nods, dropping to his knees by Mattie's head. He takes his chin in hand, examining a nasty split lip. "Do me a favor and get his pants off so I can give him the spanking he deserves." He meets Mattie's eyes with a look that’s as hard as steel. The cop’s protests appear to be stuck in his throat. Holly hopes they stay there.

Matthew tries to squirm away from them, though there’s not much he can do besides press himself into the back of the couch. He curses himself. Holly has every reason to hate him now that he knows Mattie’s a cop - a cop who took advantage of him.

Francis glares over at Holly. "Stop that. I don’t care what he is. He saved me once, and I-" There's a strange look in Holly's eyes, a pain like he's never seen in Holly before. "You've met before."

Holly scoffs a little, reaching up with a wet cloth to dab at Mattie's lower lip. "Yeah. He saved me once, too. Is that your line?" His jaw hardens as his mind goes on. _Save them, heal them, make them want you so bad they'd tell you anything? It's a damn good thing your boyfriend interrupted us before I could give you my life story._ Out loud, he adds, "Now we're even."

"No! I mean yes, I mean...shit." Matthew squeezes his eyes shut. "Neither of you have ever owed me anything. I wanted to help you, because ...because it's just the right thing to do! Keep people safe."

"Yes of course, and you do a wonderful job. To protect and defend, right? Now hush. You've got quite the bump here," says Francis. He frowns, brushing the back of Mattie's head. They must have hit him there first, so he never knew what was coming. "Ice, Holly?"

Holly makes his way to the freezer, jaw still tight. He can't even look at the man without wanting to... Well. If he was feeling lazy a little while ago, seeing Mattie has him wide awake. But Mattie's a cop. He thought he was just a liar; apparently there's no such thing as 'just' a liar.

"You know I’m a-?" Mattie starts, then thinks better of saying the word ‘cop’ out loud. Of course Francis knows. There's no way he believed Holly's bullshit about him working for Yao. Mattie sighs, well aware that he is not out of danger. He was friends, at the least, with Holly, but he doubts that is true any longer. He has no idea how trustworthy Francis is, but for now he doesn’t have much choice. "Never mind. It's, um, good to see you?"

Francis laughs. "You as well. However, I must admit you look a bit worse for the wear. So relax, and we will bring the spark back to those lovely eyes."

Holly brings the ice over, watching with begrudging affection as Francis fusses over the young cop like he would a nervous client. He, however, doesn’t have the patience. "Why were you hanging around here?" he asks, although he knows the answer, at least in part. There's been a lot of bad activity in this neighborhood recently. An undercover cop would be very interested in finding a connection between this neighborhood and the crime spree. That, and Holly would like to think... But that's ridiculous. Why would anyone ever worry about him?

Mattie shakes his head, a move that sends shooting pains through his skull. He accepts the ice and sighs. "I was walking." He can't say any more; at least, not about his official purpose. He fidgets so that he can look Holly in the eye, but the man won't meet his gaze. "I was hoping to run into you. To see if you were okay."

Holly can't let himself believe a word of that, or his heart will be tugged in all over again. He squares his jaw, looking down and failing to swallow his pain. "I've been better." Dammit, where's the ice that he was supposed to throw at him? Where's the anger? Holly doesn't have any left. It's gone, like the jealousy he felt when he left Mattie’s apartment. All he has now is concern for Mattie and for his own heart. He thought he was stronger than this. "Don't try to get in with this neighborhood again. Something's wrong right now. You need to lay low."

There's so much Matthew wants to explain, but right now his head is pounding and he's only got enough energy to concentrate on the life-threatening aspect of all this. "I don't think I can come back. If someone is after me, it would be better to be forgotten. Those guys said something about Mr. Beilschmidt and La Citta."

Holly's stomach wants to wrench free of his body. Never come back? Then again, isn't that what Holly wants? He squares his shoulders, even as his resolve crumbles within him. He can't stay angry. He should be enraged that Matthew lied, yet he's never been more fascinated.

A different worry takes hold of Francis. "If someone is after you, could they know about your friends?" he asks.

Mattie’s mind flies to Alfred and Arthur and he nearly jumps to his feet. "I have to go to my boss!"

Francis pushes him gently back to the couch. "No, not now. It's too dangerous and you're hurt. But there are other ways; you can call them, make sure that they’re alright or send a warning."

Mattie struggles against Francis, panic building in his chest. With Alfred’s attitude and Artie's habit, the two are far more vulnerable than he is. "I have to help them! I can't call. If someone had them and I said the wrong thing, they could be killed!"

Holly sighs, pushing up from his couch and moving to the bedroom where he keeps a stash of burn phones. They’re disposable, pay as you go, and very useful when you need a phone that can't be traced. He takes one of the phones out into the living room and drops it into Mattie's lap. "Call your boyfriend, and then hand me the phone."

“Boyfriend? But I don't have a boyfriend." Mattie frowns. Was _that_ what Holly thought when Alfred barged in? He wishes he had time to explain, time to figure out if the whole thing was as wrong as Alfred seemed to think.

Holly blinks, surprised by Mattie's abrupt tone. He can still see the hurt on that Alfred guy's face. "But I thought..."

Matthew shakes his head. He needs to keep his emotions out of this so he can handle one crisis at a time. "It won't matter if it's not my phone. I don't know what I'd say, and it would still sound suspicious."

Francis picks up the phone and smiles. "Tell me how to reach Alfred. I can make sure he's safe; only rookies don't know my name," he says with a wink.

Mattie bites his lip. "I don't know..."

Francis puts a gentle hand on Mattie’s face. "I promise that you can trust me. I...well, you could say that you and your friends have made quite the impression on me. I only need Alfred's number. I already know how to reach Arthur, and I have less fear for him." He doesn't add that this is because he's almost certain everyone knows Artie is a cop already, and one willing to sell information for the right price. But Arthur wouldn’t rat out his team…would he?

Matthew squirms away from the affection, slightly uncomfortable to be touched so freely by a near stranger. Still, Francis has a point. There are few boundaries for him (physical or social, apparently), and the man is a smooth talker. "Alright," he says. He dials Alfred's number before handing the ringing phone over to Francis.

On the other end of the line, Alfred's not really doing anything. He’s lying in bed, surfing the channels, and trying not to think about the fact that he heard Mattie's door slam three hours ago and he hasn't heard it slam again since. He won't be able to sleep tonight until he’s sure Mattie is home safe. He sighs. What the hell was he angry at Mattie for, anyway? They're friends, partners. If anything, he should be giving him a pat on the back for getting laid. Alfred is close to calling Mattie despite the dangers it could cause when the phone rings in his hand. He frowns at the unfamiliar number before answering. "Hello?"

Francis gives Mattie a wide smile, just to let him know that Alfred is at least alive and capable of talking. "My darling! It’s Francis. I hope I am not catching you at a bad time?"

Alfred blinks, then grins wide and easy. Francis is the perfect distraction. He leans back in bed, throwing his arm behind his head. "Like I wouldn't drop everything for you. I’m just watching infomercials. Rotting my brain."

Francis lets out a breath of relief. Alfred is alive, well, and evidentially bored. Still, it would ease Francis' heart to see him - and besides, Matthew cannot stay in Holly’s apartment, nor can Francis take him back to the Rainbow. He isn’t sure putting Matthew and Alfred in the same room is a good idea, given their argument, but the more he hears about it the more he thinks that his angels need one another. 

"Well please keep your brain healthy! Life would be so boring without it. No... _creativity_ ," says Francis. He decides to keep up the pretense, just in case Alfred is not as alone as he says or thinks. "I am calling to remind you of your appointment."

Alfred sees just one meaning behind Francis' sweet words: he can stop surfing the channels and get laid. "Appointment? Really? You've got time to hang? Absolutely. When?"

Technically this is Holly's appointment, but Francis doubts the man will mind the interruption; he didn't seem particularly interested to begin with. "Would you mind terribly if I came to visit you tonight? I am so longing for your company, and Liza may be angry if I bring you to my room."

"Hell yeah. I mean, of course not. No, please. Come over." Alfred grins, springing from his bed and searching for a pair of jeans that are reasonably clean and easy to get out of. "I'll make dinner. Um... Burgers work?"

"You will spoil me! Can I bring a friend?" Francis winks at Mattie, who is wearing an expression of vaguely horrified astonishment. "He is in need of some tender, loving care, and I worry to leave him alone in such a state."

Alfred pauses, considering the offer. Well then. Three's company, and all that jazz. He grins even wider. "Three burgers coming right up. I'll be here."

"Wonderful! I will see you in about half an hour." Francis hangs up, hands the phone off to Holly, and finds that both he and Mattie are staring at him. "What?"

Holly shakes his head. Honestly, the way Francis can wrap the world around his finger is almost terrifying. "You're just unbelievable, Fran."

"So I've been told."

Mattie swallows several times, trying to come up with something to say. He's seen Alfred around the station, but they haven't really talked in weeks. What if Alfred is still angry? And what will happen to Holly if they leave him behind? Plus, the way Francis phrased all that..."He thinks you're bringing me as a prostitute!"

Francis chuckles. "Probably, but I wanted to be certain that he would let us in. I think you will be safer together, even if you have argued. Please, ease my heart? I have so many friends I worry for." He glances towards Holly.

Holly's eyes narrow. He's not going to get involved, not this time. He stands and clears the table from the doorway, blocking Francis’ look with his back. "Don't worry so much,” he says flatly. "Most of your friends know how to get the hell out of dodge."

"Then why are they still here?" Francis replies, eyebrow raised. Later, he tells himself, he will do more for Holly, but for tonight he is going to focus on his angels. He turns to Matthew and offers his arm. "Let me take you to Alfred?"

Holly watches carefully as Francis helps Mattie rise and stumble towards the door. He wants to be relieved that he got out of the whole thing before it became a deadly mess. He tries very hard to feel good about this goodbye.

He doesn't.

Mattie makes a noise that sounds like pain and Holly moves to his other side without thinking.

Mattie leans into him. A part of him would like nothing more than to fall asleep on Holly's couch and stay for a while, just like Holly stayed with him. He still wants to explain things, to try and mend some of the damage he caused. He wishes there was more time. His heart refuses to accept it, but deep down he knows that this might be his last chance. "I didn't lie to you,” he says. “I mean, not about how much I care for you. I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

Holly's heart wrenches _hard_ at those words. Part of him wants to get angry and spit bitter accusations like _"You're just saying that to break my heart again."_ He knows that's not true, and instead he tries to close himself off, to harden his heart and never look back. It's not easy with someone like Mattie, who has a face that always looks vulnerable, like a rabbit on the run. "You came into my life looking for information. You got it. Take that as a win."

Francis feels Matthew sink against his arm, and his heart breaks for the pair. There's nothing to be done; a cop and a drug dealer? Doomed from the start, even worse than a cop and a whore. That's what he's telling himself, at least. He shifts his grip on Mattie’s waist and stares at Holly, determined to keep them moving even if it means using Holly's wounded heart against him. "Holly, I think I have an answer to your question now. I think the answer is yes, if it were possible. Help him, please. I don't have a car and I can't get him far like this." The words leave a bitter taste on his tongue, but there are worse things he could have said. The world's a cruel place.

Holly freezes. Dammit, why does Francis have to...? But he's right. He can't leave Matthew wounded and miserable. That would be cruelty, not self-preservation. He releases his hold on Mattie, then unlocks the door and grabs his keys. "Let's go," he says, moving past the two of them and trying not to feel the way Mattie's fingers brush his wrist as he passes.

They make it outside and into the car without incident, yet the minute Holly closes his driver's side door tension seems to fill the car like hot air. No one moves for a second. Finally, Holly turns the key in the ignition, backs out of his parking space and heads to the main road. God, he hates this. He can feel Mattie's eyes on him in the rearview mirror, holding him like they want to pin him to his seat.

Holly turns onto a quiet street, on the way to Mattie's without being on the main drag. He doesn't want anyone to see his car. He wants to stay as far out of this as possible. He can't afford to piss anybody off. "Where do you want me to drop you?" he asks, his gut tight and his hands clutching the steering wheel.

"Close as you can get," Francis says before Matthew can ask Holly to stay with them. It's dangerous for Holly to do even this much. He needs to get out of here as soon as he can, go back home and pretend this never happened. It's a good things those thugs were Ludwig's and unlikely to ever contact Yao. If they tried to feed Holly's story to the Dragon, Holly could be a dead man. The thought makes Francis feel cold. "I am sorry to leave your appointment, darling. You know I would not leave you unsatisfied if it were not so dire."

"Don't worry about it," Holly says grimly, pulling into the lot behind Mattie's apartment complex. He's not even thinking about sex anymore. Having sex with Francis at this point would be... It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be what he wanted. "Be careful," he says, hoping to God it conveys everything else he can't say.

Mattie can't help reaching for Holly, just to touch his shoulder if he can't have anything else. " _Thank you_ ,” he says. “Please, take care of yourself."

Holly stiffens. He turns his head, looks Mattie in the eye, and reaches to touch the hand on his shoulder, trying not to feel attached to it. "I always do." He brushes the hand away then, hating the loss of it, and turns to Francis. "You take care of yourself too, Fran."

Francis smirks. "Moi? Of course. I will be fine, it is my friends I worry about; especially the ones who know too much, like you and-" He blanches. Oh _hell_ , he nearly forgot Arthur. Holly might be able to avoid Ludwig’s men, but Arthur hangs around La Citta all the time. Arthur took the lead on the race track incident, too. La Citta may not see him as a danger anymore, but he can't imagine they would pass up the chance for revenge.

"Holly, will you do one more very large favor for me?" Francis asks, already reaching for his phone. Arthur is a mess, but he is a dear friend. They've kept one another afloat when there was no one else to turn to.

Holly stiffens even more. No, no. He _can't_. He can't get into this any further. Hell, he's already balls deep in trouble just for getting close with Mattie. But... it's Francis asking, and he can’t bring himself to say no. "What?" he asks warily, fearing for himself, for Francis, for everyone.

Francis holds up a hand, begging Artie to answer. The phone just keeps ringing. "Damnit, where are you?" he mutters.

After a long while, Artie finally does answer. He's barely able to pick up his head, it's pounding so hard. Whoever it is, they're lucky he's even bothering. But it could be Ludwig. He mumbles a rough "'Lo?" which is the best he can muster.

Francis lets out a breath of relief. "Mon ami! It's Francis. Where are you? I have been missing your lovely company."

Artie smiles weakly, sitting up and rubbing his head. He can always will away a hangover for Francis' sake. "Been on a bit of a bender, I'm afraid. Got a free spot tonight?"

"Ah..." Francis hesitates. If he could be in two places at once that would make things so much easier. But that's why he needs Holly's assistance. "No, but perhaps tomorrow. I was thinking of you. Are you alright?"

"Hangover from hell, but I'm fine." Arthur grins, running a hand through his hair and laying back in bed. He does miss Francis'... willingness. "I've missed you too. Been thinking I should come by and make an appointment. That thing you do with your tongue is not something you can teach, you know."

"Which _thing_?" Francis laughs, still a bit nervous. Just because no one has come for Arthur yet does not mean they won't. "Perhaps I shall have to go through them all so you can tell me. But tomorrow. I will find time, I promise."

Artie laughs. "I'm glad to hear it. But what's a poor sap to do tonight while he pines away for you?"

"Hold on a moment," says Francis. He puts the phone on mute and looks to Holly. Now is the time to beg, and he's _very_ good at begging. "Please, Holly. Mon cher ami, mon cher cœur, I will do anything you ask. Just go to Arthur tonight, see if he's really ok. I'm sure he’ll buy from you, and I will repay you." Francis leans over to the front seat, kissing Holly's ear, his cheek, anywhere he can reach. "Any way you please, _every_ way you please, all night long. Just keep him safe for me, make sure he knows about the danger." [1]

Holly freezes at Francis' touch, letting him take liberties for only a moment before he jerks away. He's tired. He's sad. He wants nothing to do with love and sex, nothing to do with whatever Francis is offering in return. On the other hand, he knows what needs to be done. Artie may be a waste of air, but he's a good customer, and he’s been a bridge between the good guys and the bad guys for a very long time. His eyes shoot to the rearview mirror and he finds Mattie watching him with red cheeks, clearly embarrassed by Francis’ affections. He looks away. "I don't need... _that_ , Francis. I'll keep him safe."

Francis' eyes narrow; nothing in the world is free, especially not to a dealer. "I do not like being in debt. You know that."

Holly’s eyes return to Mattie's face. There's something about it that makes him want to follow him into the dark. Holly half-wishes he was someone else, or that Mattie was. Maybe both of them. Another time, another place, and maybe this could be something. "You're keeping him safe." he finally says. "That's all I need."

Mattie holds Holly's gaze for a long second. As soon as he gets out of this car, there's a good chance Holly will drive away and forget him. Yet there’s something like a promise in Holly’s gaze. Maybe he won't be forgotten. Maybe in the future, if things settle down...well, there's no harm in hoping.

Francis cannot help his continued suspicions, but the look that passes between Matthew and Holly makes his own heart ache. If Mattie is an angel, then he is not for either of them to keep. "Thank you," he says, then unmutes his phone. "Arthur? I happened to run into another friend of ours who has some time. I'm sending Holly off to visit you! Don't you boys go and have too much fun without me."

On the other side of the line, Artie grins. He'll go visit Ludwig, give him something to chew on for the day. Then he'll go home and get high. "Tell him to pick me up at La Citta. Got somethin' t'look into there. Police business." He tries to sound official, but it doesn't quite sell.

A shiver of fear runs through Francis. "No! I mean- save it for another time, oui? I’ve heard bad things with Braginski on the rampage. You know he is aiming for La Citta."

Artie frowns. Well, he won't worry poor Francis. "Alright, then. I'll put my business on hold. For you." He drops back onto his bed and closes his eyes. "Tell Holly the key's above the door."

Francis sighs and leans back against the seat. "Of course. Au revoir!" He hangs up and looks to Holly. "Key's above the door. The damned fool, letting anyone in that way."

Holly nods. "I'll lock it behind me." He turns the car on again, nodding to the door. "Hurry up. Your 'friend' is waiting." His tone is far more bitter than he wants it to be.

Francis gets out, leaving Matthew and Holly alone for only a moment. Mattie desperately tries to think of something to say, something that could be just for them. For some reason all he can remember is a quote from that book about the rabbits. "A rabbit who does not know when a gift has made him safe is poorer than a slug, even though he may think otherwise himself."

Holly looks up at him through the mirror, smiling just a little, just enough. He wants desperately to pull Mattie into his arms and beg him not to go. He could keep him safe for a time, he could make him happy. But eventually everything would come crashing in. If they want to survive, whatever they have now, whatever this is, has to stop. At least for the time being.

"Now I know why you love that book so much." Holly smiles wryly, reaching back to take Mattie's hand in his. He squeezes it once before letting go. "Whenever they catch you, they will kill you."

Their fingers linger for a moment and Mattie smiles. "But first they must catch you." The door opens, and the moment is gone. He lets Francis help him out. "Goodbye, Holly. Thank you."

Holly lets them go, watching Mattie walk away without saying another word. He wants to get so high that he'll never wake up, because he knows that the moment he does he'll be thinking of Mattie again. He drives away with every intention of going to Artie's to do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] my dearest friend, dearest heart


	53. The Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the injured Matthew appears at Alfred's door, their argument is instantly forgotten. Francis helps to bandage Matthew as well as the pair's friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments!

Alfred has over prepared. He made three burgers. And then a fourth burger, because he wants two. But maybe Francis will want two? He doesn't know, and he isn't going to call and ask. He starts another burger and is just finishing it off when he hears the knock. He turns off the burner and opens the door, leaning on the frame in an attempt to look cool at the very least. But when he sees Mattie standing there with a sorry look on his face, not to mention the bruises, he stumbles from the doorway and grabs him by the shoulders.

"Dude! Are you okay?!" he cries out, dragging them both into the apartment. Damn. Looks like somebody worked Mattie over good. Something hot and bitter floods Alfred’s veins and he lets go of Mattie for a moment, stepping back. His expression turns hard and his thoughts blank out. He can't think at all beyond the fact that he's going to _murder_ that son of a bitch. "Did Nethers do this? Did he hurt you?!"

"What? No! No Al, of course not! I ...haven't seen him," Mattie replies. It's better not to let Alfred know the details of his night. Better to remember, and let everyone else forget. "Keep your voice down, will you? This is business."

Alfred deflates a little, the attacker now an unknown, not someone he's been wanting to tangle with since the moment he saw him in Mattie's bed. Helpless, he moves to the kitchen and grabs an ice pack from the fridge. "What the hell happened?"

"Someone snitched on him,” says Francis. He helps Mattie over to the couch, switching off the television to cut down on light and sound. There's a fair chance the cop has some kind of concussion; not a bad one, since he's still awake and talking, but it's got to involve one hell of a headache. “They might have exposed you and Arthur, too."

Alfred's eyes widen. "Oh _fuck_ ," he curses. He returns to the couch with the ice pack, dropping down next to his best friend and squeezing his shoulder. "You alright, buddy? Need a doctor? Here – ice for your head. Wanna burger? Pepsi? Beer?"

"Head wound, Al. No alcohol. I'm alright, mostly. I got very, very lucky," says Matthew. He smiles at Francis. "A couple of angels, you could say."

"One reaps what one sows," Francis replies gently, then turns to Alfred. "Have you heard anything? Ivan doesn't know this place, right?"

"Well, I-" Alfred clamps his mouth shut before he can reveal anything more. Mattie probably knows the truth about Ivan’s work; he's been undercover way longer than Alfred has. But Francis can't know a thing. "No. No, man. He's got no clue where I live, unless he's got me tailed. And why would he tail me?" He turns to Mattie, tipping his chin back with his fingers and checking his eyes "You don't _look_ concussed.”

Mattie groans. "Please tell that to my head."

"I would if it wasn't so thick!" Alfred laughs.

Francis stands, determined to leave them together for a bit. They're acting like friends again, and that's a good first step. "I will get some food."

"Don't bother, we've got burgers!" Alfred grins.

Francis wrinkles his nose at the thought of some grease-covered bun, but he's pleasantly surprised that the smells from Alfred's little kitchen suggest something homemade. Perhaps one will not kill him. "Alright then."

Alfred looks over Mattie with a critical eye. He looks... comparatively okay. Whatever happened tonight, it didn't just leave him with some nasty bumps and scrapes. Mattie’s been walking around like a zombie all week, but now he has some color to his face, some life. "You look pretty good, considering."

"Like I said, I got lucky," Matthew replies. "Francis called Artie, too, so for the moment we're all safe. Relatively speaking."

Alfred's relieved to hear that. He pulls Mattie into his lap, something he's been doing since they were kids living in next-door row houses with a shared yard. They've never been without each other, so these things are easy. He checks out the bruises and brushes Mattie’s hair back to look at a cut on his forehead. "You look like you'll live. Which is good, since you owe me a drink."

Mattie laughs. It's an old joke; he’s owed Alfred a drink since they turned 21. Alf has never considered the debt repaid, no matter how many drinks he's downed on Mattie’s dime.

Alfred turns Matthew’s chin, checking out the shiner forming beneath his eye. "Kind of looks like that time I dared you to climb the tree in our front yard. When we were, like, six. Remember? Or seven, maybe?"

Mattie snorts. "Yeah. My mom had a _fit_. You were always getting me into trouble."

Alfred laughs. "Yeah, but at least I always got you out of it, too." His hands fall to draw gentle fingers down Mattie’s throat, feeling for threat marks, perhaps scrapes left by a switchblade. "Did they leave damage anywhere besides your face?"

"The usual for things like this, as far as I could tell. Ribs, back, face,” Francis answers for him, returning from the kitchen with three plates of burgers. He’s been observing the pair from the open kitchen. Alfred and Matthew act like long-time lovers; too close for friends, at least in his experience - though given his experience that may not mean much. Arthur said they were just neighbors, but Artie tends to get mixed up these days. "You should take off your shirt,” he adds, and for once he has no ulterior motives (at least not on his own behalf). “Let us make you more comfortable."

"He has a point," Alfred mutters, hooking his finger into the first button of Mattie’s shirt and beginning to undo them. He's a bit of a pro at undressing either gender, and it's easier when he's not fumbling in the dark. "I still have your hoodie here, by the way. You can wear that once I check your back." There's a touch of worry in his tone that escapes the amused veneer.

"Alright," says Mattie. He can't even protest the stripping at this point, even though he's embarrassed to be exposed in front of them. He smiles at the thought of his hoodie; he's missed it while he’s been undercover. It's a bit too noticeable: bright red with a white maple leaf.

Alfred whistles as he opens the shirt and reveals Mattie’s skin. His fingers trail down Mattie’s ribcage, deftly cataloging each forming bruise. "Nasty, dude. We oughta get you one giant icepack or something."

Francis clucks his tongue. "We- _I_ did what I could for him, but thought it best to get him out of the area. Now we will have time to treat everything. Do you have first aid?"

Alfred nods and points toward the bathroom. "There's a huge box in there with everything a cop could need. It's on top of the toilet. Do me a favor and grab it for us?"

"Of course," says Francis. All the better to give these two more time alone. It seems like they need it.

Alfred sighs, watching him go and then turning back to take stock of Mattie's chest. "Moron. You should've called me."

Matthew groans. "They didn't really give me the chance. I got smacked on the back of the head and dragged down a side street. Plus, I was afraid to call you even when Francis suggested it. I didn't want to get you in trouble, too."

Things go quiet between them for a moment. Alfred’s hand wanders, sliding comfortingly over his shoulder. "Listen, I'm..." He sighs, leaning back on the couch. "I'm sorry for being a dick about your... whatever. I shouldn't've said anything."

"Alfred..." Matthew bites the inside of his lip, unsure how to respond. He keeps thinking of that moment before he got out of the car, of everything that could have been. But it's stupid to imagine that, no matter how he feels. It was stupid all along. "He was my informant. Things got complicated. It was a mistake, and I never should have let it happen."

A moment passes as Alfred assesses his face for sincerity. Then, seemingly satisfied, he reaches up and ruffles Mattie's hair. "Thank God. I thought you'd lost your mind." He drops his hand with an easy grin. "So, single again? That's my Mattie."

"Yeah. Of course." The words sting almost as much as Mattie's scrapes. He's almost always single. Even when he does get noticed, no one wants to stick around. Except Alfred, who's always been around. But that's...that's something else. He hears humming from the bathroom and smiles a bit. "I didn't know you'd been talking to Francis."

"Well, after we got him back to the Rainbow that night, I couldn't get it out of my mind. So I went to the carwash they held at La Citta, remember that? And we're cool. Obviously." Alfred grins, reaching up and tugging Mattie's weird curl of hair. "I didn't know you two were talking either."

"We weren't, until an hour ago. He was..." Mattie cuts himself off. He's not sure how to explain that without bringing in Holly or making up a lie, and he's tired of lies.

Thankfully, Francis returns in time to save him. "I was with a client. I noticed the trouble, and I always pay my debts."

Alfred turns to grin at Francis, his body sprawled out over the couch, barely giving Mattie room to sit against him. "C'mon, Frannie, we love damsels in distress. You don't owe us anything for the save."

Francis frowns. "I am not a damsel, in case you did not notice the other week." He kneels on the floor beside the couch and sets down the kit. He gives little warning before he presses an antiseptic-soaked washcloth against Mattie’s skin.

Matthew sucks in a breath. "That stings."

"Dude, hold still," says Alfred. He puts a hand on Mattie's shoulder and holds him still. He can tell Francis is trying to be gentle. It's in the lines of his frown, the focus in his eyes.

"I know, I'm sorry," Francis says sincerely, but does not stop. "The sooner we get you cleaned up the sooner you'll start to heal, and heal well. We'll get you some more ice in a moment."

Mattie nods, leaning back against Alfred. "Yeah. It's alright, just - wasn't expecting it."

"There is good pain and there is bad pain," says Francis. "This is good pain, hold onto that and it will be easier."

"You'll be alright as long as you rest up," Alfred says, squeezing Mattie's shoulder. His eyes shift to Francis, then away again. "Speaking of pain... We found the guy who- um. You. Um." He doesn't know how to say it. Francis looks at him, first confused and then pale as the moon. "Yeah. Um. He's no longer a problem, if you get me."

Francis' hands falter a moment when he realizes what Alfred is saying, but this time it's not the memory that bothers him. If the police have found the man's body, then it might lead them back to Toni. He can't lose Toni on top of everything else, especially not over something he did to protect Francis. He adds more antiseptic to the cloth and helps Matthew turn so that he can reach his back - and so that he only has one pair of eyes looking at him. "It doesn't become you to be indirect, Alfred. The man who raped me is dead, is that right? Do you know what happened?"

Now it's Alfred's turn to lose some color. "Yeah. Ah... looks like he shot himself," he says, trying not to think about the crime scene. And everything else. He looks down at Mattie, running his fingers through his friend’s hair. "You okay now?"

Mattie nods, concentrating on the conversation and the faded pattern of Alfred's couch instead of Francis' touch. "You shouldn't tell people about our cases," he says, though his heart isn't in it. If anyone deserves to know about this one, it's Francis - even if Mattie has his doubts about the suicide ruling.

"I won't tell a soul," Francis promises, so long as there is no reason for Toni to worry.

"Yeah, it's okay. If anybody can keep a secret it's Francis," says Alfred, a small quirk of his lips the only sign he may be playing. He reaches out and takes Fran's hand to squeeze it for a second.

Francis smiles back at them, though underneath his expression is something bitter. He can keep many secrets and give them away just as easily, for the right price. He releases Alfred's hand and opens the first aid kit, sifting through it for the appropriately sized bandages. "We'll have you all cleaned up in a moment, Mathew, and then you can rest."

Mattie nods, sinking a little further against Alfred and shutting his eyes. He doesn't want to think about their cases anymore, or Holly, or any of the people crushed by the weight of the world. He just wants-

"Hey now, I said _rest_ , not sleep!" Francis calls, shaking the cop a little. "You can't sleep yet if you've hit your head. Alfred, you'll have to keep him awake."

"Oh-" Alfred cuts himself off and tugs on Mattie's ear. "C'mon, Mattie, what did you used to say during exams? Sleep is for quitters?" He ruffles his hair, trying to get him to open his eyes at least. "Remember that one year I out-scored you in chem and you nearly killed me with a beaker? Remember?"

Mattie bats Alfred's hand away and forces himself to open his eyes. "I did _not_ , you just surprised me while I was holding it! I'd still be half convinced you cheated, but you always were good at science."

Francis smiles a little, watching them bait each other and cuddle. He can understand Holly's question now, and he thinks he has a real answer. These boys were not made for sinners like he and Holly. They should never have touched them. "You are very sweet together," he says as he presses a series of bandaids over a scrape on Mattie's knee.

Alfred blinks, stunned. He peers down at Mattie, their faces in direct parallel. "Why does everybody always think we're together? That's just... weird," he says, shaking his head because the image, while not unpleasant, always has the tendency to make him uncomfortable.

"Perhaps not," says Francis. "Friends make some of the best lovers. You know what the other likes; where they're ticklish, what makes them feel good, if they happen to look good in red..." He smirks and runs his hand a little farther than necessary up Matthew's side. Mattie squirms, and _Alfred_ squirms, and Francis just laughs.

"That's just... Fran, C'mon," Alfred laughs. He shifts back so that Mattie's ass is not quite so aligned with that part of his anatomy. "We're like... I dunno." Not brothers. Certainly best friends. He _does_ know what Mattie likes, or at least he knows more than most do. The ticklish spots are easy: his left hip, his right side, and both ears are vulnerable to touch. There was also that one odd conversation they'd had in high school, when all Alfred talked about was sex and all Mattie talked about was books. The one time Mattie said anything about sex it bothered Alfred for _weeks_ because just the image of him with somebody made his stomach twist.

Mattie bites his lip. The thought of him and Alfred is strange. They've been friends for a very long time, and he's heard plenty of Alfred's escapades. His own have been less frequent and far more subdued (except for Holly). He and Alfred, though, they've never...well, he thinks they may have kissed at a party once, but there was more than a little alcohol involved.

Matthew shuts his eyes again and tries to stop himself from thinking so hard. Between Holly, the attack, and now Alfred, his head is spinning. He changes the topic. "We're friends. Hey Alf, thanks for this. You too, Francis."

"No problem," Alfred says. He helps Mattie sit up again and presses a firm hand against his back for support. "What else would I do, man? You know me." Even if he shot his mouth off about Holly, even if they fought, he'd never turn his back on Mattie. Never in a million years.

While Francis moves to clean and bandage his other side, Mattie shuts his eyes and tries to think of something pleasant. Unfortunately, what he comes up with is something worse. He groans. "The chief's going to flip. What are we going to tell him?"

"Um. Nothing," Alfred says, but then he checks himself. Because seriously, look at Mattie. He sighs, his hands sliding down to Mattie's arms. "He'll take you off the case, for one."

"No kidding. He might take you off too. We have to find out who told, how much they know. We could be in serious danger now," says Mathew. If the thugs who attacked him didn't believe Holly, or if anyone followed them, they could _all_ be in trouble. His eyes suddenly go wide, and he pushes Francis away. "You should go! You and Holly should never have gotten involved."

Alfred jerks back and moves to stand, his eyes narrowing and his lips edging into a frown. " _Holly_? I thought you said-"

Francis clucks his tongue and re-settles Mattie against the couch cushions. "Nonsense. Holly was not involved, we were simply engaged in a business arrangement when I heard you yell. Besides, I've slept with someone on all sides of these arguments and never yet had a complaint. If anyone knocks on my door looking for a fight, I'll just go on my knees and ask for mercy. You'll find it comes out much clearer when you've got something in your mouth." He smiles to make all of that sound less morbid. It's survival, that's all.

Thoughts of Holly slide away with Francis' rather self-depreciating lecture. Alfred almost wants to kiss him to make him feel better. He reaches out to slide a hand over the man’s cheek, offering him comfort and protection, if he wants it. "Look, no one knows we live here. Except Holly." He glares dangerously. "If somebody comes knocking, we'll know who told."

Matthew frowns. "Holly wouldn't. He doesn't like to get involved; he hears things, but..." Then again, Holly works for Yao. Mattie is sure that Holly tells Yao the things he learns, and he _did_ tell Mattie about some of it too. But when he thinks of the time he spent with Holly, of all the beautiful things he said, of the way Holly cared for him today even after he learned that Mattie was a cop, the doubt fades away. Mattie is good at reading people, and he is sure that this, at least, Holly will keep to himself. "Holly won't tell anyone. Just trust me on that. Francis won't tell anyone either, right?

"Upon my life," Francis promises. He pats the hand Alfred left against his cheek, then lets it fall away from his face. He can't let his angels fall.

Alfred sighs, then leans in to kiss Francis' mouth. Always comforting, those kisses. He breathes out slowly and pulls back. "Well, I guess we'd better hunker down here. I'll call Vosh. Think you can stay for a couple of days, Fran?"

Francis shakes his head. He shouldn't let Alfred kiss him, and he _certainly_ shouldn't kiss back, especially now that he sees his angels have a chance at happiness together. But Alfred is like a drug made of sunshine, and Francis is weak when it comes to his addictions. "I cannot. I have to get back to work, and my friends will worry if I do not reappear soon."

"Francis - It's not safe, don't you get that?" Alfred asks. He needs Francis safe. He needs to make sure he doesn't cross paths with the people who worked Mattie over.

"I don't want to see you get hurt either," Mattie adds, even though he's feeling like the third wheel again. When Alfred said he knew Francis, he never thought he meant like _that_. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised, although it stings a little in light of Alfred’s reaction to Holly. "It's not just because you helped me. There's practically a gang war going on."

"I know," Francis replies. "And that is why I need to go. You've got to understand, I'm already a part of all that. I have been for a long time. The Good Doctor heals bodies, the Rainbow soothe souls - at least for a little while." He kisses Alfred's cheek, then offers Matthew a gentle hug. "Take care of one another. Get some ice on all of that, alright? And try not to sleep for a few more hours."

"I'll keep him awake," Alfred says, smiling slightly at Francis as he helps Mattie to his feet. He holds him close to his side, keeping him from swaying to the floor. "Be careful. Door's always open to you here, alright?"

"Thank you," says Francis. "I would tell you that you are always welcome at the Rainbow, but in light of what's happened it may be best if you stay away from there. Leave that to Arthur - and I promise I'll take care of him, too, as much as I can. Goodnight, my dears."

"Take care, Francis," says Matthew. "And thank you."


	54. Resident Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil is horrified to discover further evidence of Mattias' abuse. Unable to deal with it any longer, he runs away to stay with Eduard. There, the two renew their romance and deepen their intimacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! 
> 
> **WARNING:** This chapter contains a fairly explicit description of domestic violence and injuries gained from it. On a much lighter note, there is non-explicit canoodling at the end.

The problem with living in a cheap apartment is that there's only one bathroom to share. Solution? Learn to accept that people will see you naked, at least once or twice. Today's one of those days. Lukas is in the shower, and Emil really needs to pee. He barges in without knocking, does his business, and, just to be a jerk, flushes the toilet. The water goes burning hot and then ice cold, and the shower isn’t big enough for Lukas to avoid the spray. He shrieks and jumps backward, nearly falling out of the shower to find his brother standing there and laughing.

“You little asshole!” Lukas shouts. “Get out of here!” He turns to grab a towel off the rack, quite done with showers for now. The last time he didn't dry off when he got pulled out he ended up with a shard of glass in his stomach.

It's freaking hilarious for all of five seconds. Emil is doubled over laughing when he sees the nasty, practically evil etching on his brother's lower back, scratched into his skin so deep the wounds are like little canyons. Emil freezes for a moment, doubting his own eyes, then yanks the towel away so that he can see it again. Yeah. That says Matt. That fucking says _MATT._ “You... You have got to be _fucking_ kidding me, Luk.”

“What the hell are you-?” Luk reaches for the towel, but his arm drops when he sees the look on Emil’s face. It’s more emotion then he's seen Emil display in a while. Livid, hurt, even a little frightened. He doesn’t understand it until he realized that he let his bare back face Emil, let him see the one set of scars he’s tried to keep hidden even in the house. The name’s been scrawled into his back over and over whenever Matt was afraid he would leave, wanted to remind him that no one else would ever want him, that Matt loved him - whatever the reason on that particular occasion. He snatches the towel out of his brother's hands, tired of feeling exposed in front of his own family. “Emi...Emi they're old,” Lukas says at last. It's the first thing that comes to his mind.

“No they're not,” Emil hisses, his head suddenly going light with rage. “They're _NOT_!” The sound of his voice echoes all around them. He grips the sink because if he doesn't hold onto something he's going to punch a wall. “And even if they _are_ old, what goddamn difference does it make, Luk? Huh?! That's his name, you asshole! _That's his fucking name_!”

“Don't you think I know that?” Lukas yells, his own anger and shame exploding in retaliation. “Don't you think I know every letter, every single line of it? He's just...God, Emil, you don't understand!”

“That's sick,” Emil says softly. He takes another step back, completely appalled. He knew it was bad; he knew it had sunken to a level that was beyond "just leaving." But the name, there on Luk’s skin... It’s worse than a tattoo. It’s a seal. It represents a permanence to this that scares Emil so much he can’t breathe. “You let him do that to you?”

“No!” Luks replies. Not at first. The first time he'd fought, but that made it worse. When it was over Lukas almost left. He’d packed his bags, made a plan, even bought bus tickets for himself and Emil. Then he realized that their money would not get them far, that he couldn’t uproot Emil from school or lose him to social services a year before he turned 18. He realized Mattias might hurt himself if they left. The next morning Matt had fallen at his feet sobbing and begged him not to leave. It was the drugs, it was always the drugs, and Lukas understood because he'd been there before. When Matt cut him again, he stopped fighting. He needed it, the reminder and the pain.

“Lukas?”

Lukas looks up, suddenly aware that he's been tracing his fingers over the scars and Emil is staring. He pulls his hand away as though he's been burned and wraps the towel tighter around his hips. “Sometimes. Sometimes it feels good.”

That's just it for Emil. The look on Luk’s face, the way he's almost in a trance touching that scar. It's suddenly very clear that he doesn't know this person, that this isn't his brother anymore. This is someone entirely new, someone he doesn't like. Emil pushes past him out of the tiny bathroom, shaking his head and grabbing a pair of his jeans from the laundry. He needs to get out of here now. He slams the door to his room and locks it, throwing his jeans and a t-shirt into his escape bag. Eddie's. He'll go to Eddie's, and just... Stay.

Lukas lets the towel drop and pulls on his sweatpants, running after him and straight into the locked door. He can hear his brother rustling around, and then the slide of the window. He panics and bangs on the door. “Emil! Emi, please wait! Open up and let me talk to you!”

For once, Emil doesn't listen to his brother's pleas. It’s never changed anything before. He slings his backpack and duffel over one shoulder, then climbs from his window out to the fire escape. He doesn't want to hear any more shit about love or... or whatever's going on in that apartment. He wants to leave, and if Lukas is that far gone then he needs to leave without him for now, before Mattias consumes them both. He texts Eduard, warning him that he's coming over and that he'd better be prepared to kick some zombie ass.

XXX

Eduard never got Emil’s text. Instead, he woke up from his post-homework nap to Grell knocking on his door, Emil at her side looking like he’d just come home from a war. Grell had snuck him past the guards, knowing Ivan, if he was actually sober, would be pleased to see him, but Raivis would not. Emil didn't want to talk about whatever had happened and Eduard didn't blame him. Instead Eddie presented him with a video game controller shaped like a pistol, and for the next two hours there was no stopping them. Zombies, spiders, large mutant frogs: all these things and more met their digital maker at their hands.

“No, no, no! Switch to the- the other one, you know, with the - YES!” Eddie shouts. They’ve reached the boss of this particular level, a woman/plant creature with rather blatantly phallic vines. He shoots at the creature, hoping to get a little further before dying this round now that they've figured out which of the game’s guns work best.

“Dammit, where the fuck is all the ammo?” Emil grumbles under his breath, aiming for the head and holding steady. “Why won't this bitch die already?”

“Look out, watch for the vine thing!” Eddie’s reflexes are a little over-zealous. He ducks and ends up falling sideways into Emil.

“Watch it!” Emil tries to shove him back, but with the way they're sprawled out he only manages to tangle their guns together. Now they're really going to die. He has to laugh. “It's just a game, don't stress.”

Eddie laughs too, mostly happy to see Emil smiling again. He's been tense all night and Eddie wishes he could do more to help than shoot zombies. At least that seems to be working. “Look who's talking, Mr. "why doesn't this bitch die"?”

“Um, you just ducked at the sight of a giant green penis throwing itself at you.” Emil grins wickedly, unable to help jibing him a little. “I mean... C'mon, man. So many jokes, so little time.”

Eduard blushes and laughs along with him. They're very close right now. Close like they haven't been since they broke up, afraid to touch one another in case it brought up things they'd decided not to talk about. Emil's lips are soft from the chapstick he's nearly addicted to, and his hair, almost as light a blonde as the Braginski’s, is spread around him like a little halo. It's Emil’s eyes that hold him, however. Even though he’s smiling now, his eyes remain sad. Almost without realizing it, Eduard gently reaches out and touches his cheek. “Hey. I don't know what's going on, but I want you to know that it's...well, it’s not okay. It sucks. But I'm here anyway.”

Emil stiffens against the touch, but at the same time he leans into it, the familiarity, the warmth. It's comforting. He'd barely touched Eddie when they were together, let alone recently. He’s been so thrown off love because of the way things are between his brother and that bastard they're living with. But this? This is different. It's safe, and the part of him that has been hollow since he left the apartment is starting to hurt a little less.

“I know you are,” Emil says. His own hand slides up Eddie's arm, clutching at his shoulder for a second, not sure where to go. “You always are.”

They stare at one another for a minute, balanced on the precipice and waiting for the other to make the next move. Eduard takes a breath. Maybe it's because Natalia's death has him thinking about how little time they might have. Maybe it's because his night at the Rainbow gave him some sort of confidence. Maybe it's because Emil just looks really good making that face, so open and sincere. Whatever the reason, Eduard leans down and presses his lips against Emil's.

Emil doesn’t stop him. In his head he's calling himself foolish; this almost ruined their friendship before. But his body doesn't seem to care. He drops the game controller and winds his fingers into Eddie's hair. He holds Eduard still until he can get his bearings back and change the angle so that this kiss - one that feels far better than the ones they stole between classes last year - can continue to strip away every bad feeling in his gut.

He groans softly as Eduard’s tongue slides between his lips and spreads his legs a little to let Eddie press between them. It’s clear they’ve both driven over that edge; right now, Emil thinks that's okay. He's also thinking about the rumors that have been floating around school, about how Eddie slept with half the Rainbow and had them all begging for him to come back. That rumor combined with his confusion and likely a good dose of hormones is going to make him very, very stupid right now. He pulls back for a second, his hips grinding upward. “Is it true you lost it at the Rainbow?”

Eddie’s breath hitches. Thoughts of that night have been as sweet as they are trauma-inducing. Kiku and Francis were very nice to him and it certainly felt good, but it wasn't quite what he'd wanted. He'd wanted something more like this. “Yes.”

Emil considers this carefully, his hand sliding over Eduard’s increasingly pink cheek. He's had a hell of a day - a hell of a life, to be honest - and he's starting to wonder if anything he's done over these last few year has been worth it, with Luk being as "in love" as he is with that... that _asshole_. He's tired of it. He wants something for himself, and as long as he's being honest, he might as well own up to the fact that he always knew Eddie would be the one he’d share this with. There's no one else he trusts, no one else he cares for like this. “Show me what you've got?” he asks simply, his legs slowly rising to wrap loosely around Eddie's.

They're both flushed now, quite the pair of virgins. Well...nearly so. Eduard sometimes wonders if his birthday was some kind of incredibly vivid dream. Still, he smiles and presses a kiss to Emil's neck. “Are you sure?”

Emil’s own smile comes without warning; he almost can't believe it's there when it slides over his lips. He doesn't remember ever smiling like this before. Not recently, anyway. Eddie's lips are pressed to his skin and his pulse is starting to pick up. He leans up a little, breathing hot air over Eduard’s ear. “I'm still here, aren't I? C'mon, Eddie...” He pushes his hips upward, and he knows he has him. “You're the only one who makes me... want to.”

Eddie should be thinking this through, of all it means for both of them. Instead, he rocks his hips against him and starts to tug on Emil's shirt. “You know,” he mutters between kisses, eager to explore new skin, “what they really liked...was my mouth.” He squirms down, unhooking Emi's legs so he can kiss his stomach.

Emil can't stop himself from groaning at the thought of what's about to come, the kisses making it all too clear where this is going. It feels better than he ever expected. Every new kiss sends fire to his gut, tightening his stomach to the point where he's not sure what he's feeling, but it can't be defined by pleasure or pain. “Well, you were always a natural kisser.”

Eduard hums and pushes Emil’s shirt up so that he can take a moment to suck on his nipples. A preview, of sorts, and a way to gauge his reactions; he wants to make sure Emil’s comfortable. His efforts are rewarded when Emil gasps and arches against him. “You're a good kisser too. Maybe after this you can...ah...do me?” The lack of casanova style wording is actually reassuring. The Rainbow was a fantasy, but this – this is real.

“Provided you show me how it's done.” Emil grins down at him and then pulls Eduard up for another kiss by the back of his shirt. “Show me what you like.”


	55. The Waking of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raivis convinces Ivan to put an end to his spree of violence, only to discover a heartbreak of his own. Later, Yao is surprised by the one thing even he could not see coming: an apology from Ivan. The Wang/Braginski partnership takes on a new meaning for both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews/kudos! Sorry the update is late, we're both super busy (as usual, tbh). We'll try to get the next one up sooner!
> 
> **Fair warning:** There's explicit sex at the end of this chapter.

It’s nearly midnight, and Raivis is starting to miss the little apartment above the bar. He tries to remember how long it’s been since he or Eddie were allowed back there. Two days? Three? Time has slipped by him this week in a haze of blood and anger and orders that come from his lips but don’t sound like his voice. He'll grow used to it, he knows. Eventually. For tonight, however, it needs to stop. He can’t take it, the guards can’t take it, and without Yao's back-up Ivan is getting sloppier and sloppier. When the doors to his make-shift office (the kitchen) swing open and Ivan strolls in, drunk and already making demands, Raivis drops his pen and hardens his resolve, fully prepared to raise hell should Ivan order one more hit.

“I want...” Ivan begins, then pauses. He is actually running out of ideas as to just what it is that he wants. Nothing's worked so far, besides the alcohol. It's been years since Ivan got well and truly drunk like this, and this is his third (fourth?) day straight. The whole world looks as though it has become a painting, and sometimes the colors bleed. Ivan frowns. He does not like this watercolor world. He's used to spotting every minute detail. “Where is Eduard? Where is Kat? I want them _here_.”

“They're here.” Raivis sighs, leaning his elbows on the island he's turned into a desk. “Aunt Kat's in the living room, knitting and listening to the radio. Eddie's been in his room playing video games.”

Ivan nods in satisfaction. Raivis watches Toris shuffle in behind him, worse for wear but still breathing, which is more than a lot of their staff can say. “Papa,” Raivis says carefully, sweetly, knowing his tone is suspicious but hoping it sounds imploring enough. “You need to sleep.”

“No,” says Ivan. When he sleeps he sees Natalia: poor, faceless Natalia, clawing at him, asking without a mouth why he let this happen to her and why he hasn't found the culprit.

“You do,” Raivis replies with a quiet stubbornness, the kind that Ivan taught him. The kind that acknowledges any way but his own as an impossibility. “How can you think clearly if all you do is drink and order people dead?”

Ivan rounds on the boy and slams his fist on the counter, pulling the kind of face that turns most men's bowels to water. “Is that all you think I do? I have been tearing apart this whole city for information! I will find what I want to know if I have to burn it to the ground!”

Raivis goes stiff, absolutely ramrod straight so that his bones are quivering with the force of it. His expression, however, shows no fear. Ivan must not see anything but steady will and love. To see fear on Raivis' face would... well. It wouldn't help. “You already know what you need to know, Ivan. The people who did this - everyone knows. You're wasting your time ripping the city apart while La Citta sits and laughs over the blood you shed.”

“They are not laughing,” Ivan growls. “They are pissing themselves because they know I am coming.”

“If you are a reaper, you are in no shape for reaping.” Raivis leans on the island and stares up at Ivan's face. Toris moves to stand between them, as though he fears there may be blood. “You were the one who told me to make them your strength, not your weakness. Am I to do as you say or as you do?”

Ivan raises a hand to slap him, but it stops just short of Raivis’ face and remains hovering in the air. Raivis’ gaze remains unflinching, and in the boy’s eyes he finds a brief moment of clarity. This is his _son_ , his heir, and he was going to hurt him for doing exactly as he'd hoped. This will not do at all. Ivan should be protecting his family, not frightening them – that is, if he's really frightening anyone anymore. He has become no more than a child throwing a tantrum, and it has taken a child to show him that. His hand comes to rest on Raivis' hair and he ruffles it. “You are a good boy, Raivis.”

Raivis almost flinches, having expected the slap. When Ivan's hand rests softly in his hair instead he finds himself beaming with a kind of pride. He pushes up from his chair and moves to stand in front of Ivan, assessing him. “Thank you. We will do more about this when you can think clearly. For now...” He rests a hand on Ivan’s elbow for a second, comforting him in a way he never thought he would. “I'm grieving with you.”

Ivan’s smile turns nasty, but not against Raivis. “There is little room for grief. Grief means weakness, and I am a fool to let that be so. To be strong, you take vengeance. Tomorrow, or maybe the next day. I will know something then.”

Raivis offers a gentler smile in return. “Sleep will clear your head.” He leads Ivan up the stairs by his elbow, Toris in tow. They all need sleep. The drunkard is still seeing double and moving with very sloppy footing toward the suite of rooms all of them are using now. Ivan has moved all of them, including Toris, into one long hall, hoping to provide further protection for his family. Raivis thinks it was a stupid move considering his windows now face the main street, but he’ll keep his mouth shut about it if it makes Ivan happy.

Ivan pauses at the top of the stairs to regain his bearings. Toris and Raivis are by no means big or strong enough to hold him up if he really falls, and the rest of his staff have taken to staying well out of his way unless they are called for. The house is large, so there is plenty of room for them to scatter. The doors of this hall seem to stretch on forever – though Ivan acknowledges that the vodka is probably altering that particular perception. There’s light spilling out from one door where it’s cracked open. They met Kat downstairs, but he has not seen Eduard yet and he feels compelled to check on him before going to bed. He stumbles out of Raivis’ hold and towards the door.

“Wait, wait! Sir - Papa, that's not your room!” Raivis calls out, trying to reach after him.

Toris curses under his breath as he grabs his boss by the back of the collar and tries to steer him toward his own suite. He's used to dealing with drunkards, but this particular drunkard is not one to handle lightly.

Ivan brushes both off as easily as flies, yet like flies they continue to return all the same. “Get off! I just want to see him.” He pushes open the door and peeks in. “Eduard, are you-”

Ivan stops midsentence and gapes. There are two bodies in his son's bed. For a moment he is terrified that someone has managed to break into his house and kill his family while he was too drunk to know, but then he notes the lack of blood. The pair are both breathing - and mostly naked. He blinks, trying to clear his vision, and steps in a little further. The video game screen is distracting, flashing the words "You Are Dead" over them in red and purple. But after a moment he is certain that Eduard is safely in bed, and beside him sleeps...Emil!

Raivis grabs Ivan’s arm and starts to pull him out of the room, then freezes at the sight of not one but _two_ bodies entwined on those navy blue sheets. His eyes widen. He steps back, every nerve in his body shaking as his blood begins to boil with rage. He doesn't need to see the other face to know it's Emil, his lips pressed against Eddie's neck, his leg swung over Eddie's thigh. He lets out a sound as his heart wrenches, cracks, and shatters. “ _Eddie_!”

The shout wakes both boys instantly, and they scramble to pull the sheets over themselves when they realize they’ve been caught. Eduard’s heart drops into his stomach when he sees the look of horror on Raivis’ face, directly at odds with Ivan’s smile. “Oh _fuck_.”

Ivan claps his hands together and laughs. His plans are coming together even without his interference. He'd nearly forgotten them when he lost Natalia. “Well! I came to be sure you were well, and I see that we are interrupting! Be safe, and have a good night. Emil, you are welcome to stay as long as you like.” He throws an arm around Raivis and drags him out of the room. “Sladkikh snov!” (1)

“Eddie...” It comes out choked this time, barely audible. Raivis’ head is spinning and his nerves scream for him to _do_ something as Ivan drags him out of the room. When Ivan shuts the door he throws himself away, trying to reach the sanctuary of his room before Ivan can lecture him. Unfortunately, even drunk the man has a terrifying way of catching whatever runs from him.

Ivan’s hands lock around Raivis’ arm, though his grip is gentle. “Raivis. You must understand, this is _good_ thing. We will find someone nice for you, too, when you’re ready.”

Fury lends Raivis the strength to break free of Ivan’s hold and shove him backwards. “ _You_ don't understand! I don't want someone nice, I don't want anyone but him! No one! It's not fair! Why do you want him with that piece of shit? Why is that so important? Do you want me to be alone for the rest of my life, like _you_?” He throws himself into his room, slamming the door in Ivan's face and locking it. He doesn't care what the man's reasons are. He doesn't even care that he's probably just made him angry. He just wants them all to go away.

Ivan stares at the door, dumbfounded. _No one_ talks like that to him. He's having trouble deciding whether or not it's actually happened. He shakes his head; this is a lot for one night, even for him. He holds onto the wall and heads for his own room. “Toris, keep them all here. I am going to sleep for a while. When I get up we are going to try something new.”

Toris shifts from foot to foot, watching Ivan weave toward his room. “What's that?”

Ivan pauses, not quite turning to him. “I am going to be sober, for one, and I am going to visit Yao. And then I am going to have a talk with my pet Officer Jones, and see what he can tell us.”

XXX

The Lotus is packed tonight, full of people dancing and drinking while the city burns around them. Even Yao’s private lounge is filled with heat and smoke - more smoke now as Yao lights his bowl. He is reserved tonight, particularly compared to the last few days that he’s been following Ivan’s example and overindulging in his vices. Last night he'd done too much damage, tossing a table through a glass window. He doesn't remember much beyond that and one sober moment when he'd summoned his most trusted men to give them their orders. He's been trying to figure out what he did with his spare time before Ivan. There’s the Rainbow, but even Kiku holds less appeal these days. Drugs... he's done too much of that in the last few days. He's bored with it. There is nothing that excites him the way Ivan does, the cunning Russian with his sharp smile and sharper mind. All of that died with Natalia, and Yao wonders if the snake of a girl finally managed to corrupt her brother after all.

A sudden hush falls over the place, the music still pounding but the talk dying down. Breathing out slowly, Yao sits back in his chair and shoots a look to his guards. They know what they've been told: let the man come. If Ivan has truly become a mad dog, then Yao will put him down himself.

Sebastian heads out to the main floor, his mouth in a thin, tight line. He's angry with his boss for taking a chance like this, and even the sight of Grell does not improve his mood.

“Will he listen?” Grell asks quietly, sent ahead as a messenger given her relationship with Yao’s butler.

Sebastian sighs. “He will. Mostly he's waiting to see if Mr. Braginski will try to kill him.”

“How romantic,” Grell replies. She gestures behind her, and Ivan moves forward alone. His sheer presence makes a path form in the crowd. He's got his pipe in hand and no one wants to risk his wrath.

Ivan strides past them all without a second glance. He's come here for one reason alone - one person. He has wronged Yao in a way he never meant to and he must fix it, or he will never be able to fix anything else. He walks straight to the back lounge, pausing only when he can see Yao. He does not look well. There's a sickly pallor to his skin and heavy smoke in the air. The worst is the look in his eye. Resigned, as one gone to the gallows. Ivan throws his pipe at Yao's feet, removes his coat, and proceeds to completely disarm.

When there is nothing left on him but his clothes, Ivan kneels. He has tried to think of the right words to fix this and had a great deal of trouble. That is in part because he cannot really remember what he said to begin with. In the end, he has decided to keep it simple. He bows his head. “I am sorry.”

Yao’s eyes widen. He was not expecting an apology, and certainly not one given with Ivan bowing before him. Every weapon dropped to the floor before him is familiar, but Ivan’s expression is one he's never faced before. He reaches out to touch Ivan’s face, drawing his eyes upward. “I am sorry, too. Please...” He sighs the word, relieved to see him and happier still that it seems this will not end in blood. “Forgive me.”

Ivan takes Yao’s hand from his face and kisses it. “I never forgive.”

Yao freezes, then draws his hand away. “Then what is it you want?”

“You,” Ivan replies. “I have been a fool. I let myself be weak, and because of that I lost more than my sister. I want my strength back. I want you.”

Yao can't even believe he's hearing this. Neither can his subordinates, apparently. They're all backing up as though Ivan has done something terrifying. Swallowing hard, Yao slides out of his chair and reaches out a hand to help Ivan to his feet. “Then we should talk.”

Ivan stands, then turns to cock his head at the gathered men and women. “Ah, I am thinking that we should do so alone. Do these friends of yours know how to keep their mouths shut? If they do not, I will cut out their tongues and sew their lips together.”

“They have been very good at that so far. Still,” says Yao, and snaps his fingers. The crew files out until only Grell and Sebastian remain in the shadows, the later glaring at them both. Yao doesn't pay him any mind. He takes Ivan by the shoulders, shoves him into the chair, and then slowly lowers himself onto its arm. “I have always trusted my instincts. Everything important in my life has come from that. But perhaps with you that was a misstep.” Yao sighs. “I knew it would be wiser to reserve myself, but instinct called for me to give myself to you. I did not realize how completely I had.”

“Have you?” Ivan asks, eyebrow raised. They have done a lot of seducing and scheming, but he doesn't know if people like them can ever give their hearts in full.

Yao nods and touches Ivan's face. There are different kinds of giving, different ways to give. He's given more of himself to Ivan than he has to any other man he's been with, including his own half-brother. “I have. But since you did not take it all and did not keep what you took, I feel that I have lost more than I have gained with you.” His lips set into a thin smile. “I am not used to that.”

“I am not used to this either. I take things, but they are rarely given freely and the exchange is never equal.” Ivan frowns and tries to think of a better explanation. “Eduard and Emil are together now. It took them so much time and sorrow to see they only needed to reach out to one another. Yet they are very young, and they do not understand it at all. How close a thing love is to pain.”

“We were always going to be an odd pair, Ivan,” says Yao. He rises from his place on the arm of the chair and crouches in front of him instead, pushing Ivan’s pile of weapons aside. “No one gets where we are without pain - causing it and feeling it. Your boy is young. You know that he will grow and learn things in his own way. But this is not about him or anyone else.”

“Than what _is_ it about, Yao? Are we in love?” Ivan cannot believe he's asking. He does not like to define relationships because definitions are harder to bend to his needs. They must be broken.

Yao finds himself smiling rather sadly. He stands again and leans over Ivan, cupping his face in both hands as he pulls Ivan’s gaze to him. “That is something you need to tell me. I know what I feel for you, but I cannot read your heart.”

“I am told I do not have one,” Ivan replies. “But I am thinking if I could take it out of my chest, I might give it to you. Even if that is a very stupid thing to do.”

Yao can't help himself. He grins, leaning in and planting a kiss to Ivan’s lips that is long, heavy, and greedy. Ivan means what he says; Yao can taste the truth on his lips.

The kiss sends a wild thrill through Ivan, and the pain that's been consuming him for weeks finally subsides in the wake of this new fire. Love - or something near enough to it. _'Make him your strength_ ' he reminds himself. Together they will rule this town. He grins and gooses Yao, ready to play the devil again instead of the penitent. “You are fast becoming the worst kind of addiction,” he says.

Yao breathes in sharply. He licks Ivan’s lower lip and presses in closer. He grins shark-like, nails running softly down Ivan's chest. “It's a gift. You should take me home. We will... test our compatibility.”

“Mm, but I have not yet solved your puzzle or mine,” says Ivan. He kisses Yao's nose. “It may prove very distracting. I am glad to have you, but I do not deserve you until I have claimed vengeance for my family.”

“You deserve me. I promise,” Yao purrs. He kisses Ivan’s cheek, then his neck, leaving a fleeting wisp of a kiss at his jaw, all while his hands move to open Ivan’s belt. He's stalled for too long and almost lost Ivan to a crisis neither of them could have predicted. He's not going to waste the chance to do all he's been meaning to. “I can, at the very least, provide some comfort.”

“Not comfort. _Strength_ ,” Ivan replies. He leans back in the chair and spreads his legs.

Yao groans a little, pulling Ivan’s belt from its loops and tossing it aside. He leans in to nip at his throat. “I'd say you're strong enough.”

Grell looks from Sebastian to the couple, and then back again. “We should go. Or turn around. Or something.”

“So considerate,” Sebastian chuckles. He takes her hand and pulls her out the back door, into the alley where they'll be able to hear any overly loud noises but not see a thing. He’s fairly certain now that Yao and Ivan are not going to kill each other, but one can never be too careful with men like them.

“Considerate? Do you know me at all? I just never wanted to see the boss that way – not again, anyway.” Grell gives Sebastian a smirk and slams the door shut behind them, leaving Ivan and Yao alone.

Yao has barely noticed their exit. He’s busy sliding his hand into Ivan’s pants and pressing his palm against Ivan’s cock. It’s bigger than he expected, though he’s not surprised. He's wanted to get his hands on it, his mouth on it since the first time they got close. “You're so big... I wonder how I'll ever handle you.”

“I am sure you're more than capable,” Ivan laughs. He draws Yao up for another kiss, then slides his hands around to Yao's front and pulls up his shirt.

Yao allows him get the shirt up about halfway before he breaks away from the kiss and drops to his knees, his hands sliding up Ivan’s inner thighs. He looks up at the man through his lashes, flashing him a wicked smirk. “I've been looking forward to trying.”

“I never would have guessed, from the way you touch me,” Ivan replies with a smile of his own. He reaches for Yao’s hair, feeling the soft, smooth strands slide through his fingers. “I want to see the whole dragon. Will you show me?”

“Maybe.” Yao grins a little wider and pulls apart Ivan’s pants. He'd love to show him the whole dragon, and see all of Ivan in return. However, he’s not sure it’s wise to share so much in one night. He needs to think. Stalling for time, Yao presses his cheek to Ivan’s thigh. He takes the waist of his briefs in hand and pulls them down, slowly exposing his cock. “I'm enjoying the look of yours for now.”

Warm breath ghosts over Ivan’s skin, making him shiver. “Good. I am hoping you will be seeing more of it. _Much_ more,” he says. His grip on Yao's hair tightens, and he pulls gently.

“You know that I will. What you feel for me, I feel it too,” Yao murmurs. He drags one finger from the sensitive tip all the way down to the base, then licks his finger to taste the salt. Gripping the thick base, he leans up a little and pauses to breathe out a sigh over Ivan’s cock. Then he bows over the crown, licking around it once before taking it between his lips, his other hand dragging up Ivan’s inner thigh.

Ivan grunts, pulling his fingers through Yao’s hair and stroking over the back of his neck. “Don't tease!”

Yao groans at the touch, vaguely wondering how Ivan figured out his sensitive spots so quickly. He takes more of the man’s cock, the sea-salt taste of him making Yao’s fingers curl into Ivan’s skin and the fabric of his pants. He can't wait until they have all the time in the world to play the games he loves.

Ivan’s nails scrape against Yao's neck and scalp, demanding more of that hot, wet mouth all around him. He pushes his hips up, sensation curling around the base of his spine and spreading like a current through the rest of his body.

Yao obliges, taking him just about half-way down. He has to stop there, realizing the man's size is going to make it hard to take him all the way. However, Yao has a fondness for difficult things. Just the thought of Ivan pushing him down and forcing him to swallow his cock has Yao rubbing himself against his own hand. He keeps moving, twisting his mouth until the crown hits the back of his throat.

Ivan gasps, arching into that mouth but forcing his hands to remain still in Yao’s hair. It’s difficult; he wants to tug on those silky locks, to dig his fingers in and press Yao’s head down. But he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard Yao will not ever have sex with him again, so he lets the man take his time and tries to relax into it.

Yao pulls back to gasp for air, then bobs down again, beginning to set up a rhythm. He wants to touch, to taste, to experiment. He dips his fingers into Ivan’s briefs and slides them carefully over his scrotum, testing its tightness. He can feel Ivan tense, trying so very hard to be gentle. Yao, however, is not with Ivan for his gentleness. He pulls off for a moment, lips glistening, and whispers against the skin of Ivan’s stomach, “Pull my hair. Make me take you.”

Ivan raises an eyebrow, then smirks. “I never guessed you would enjoy kneeling for me so much, Mr. Wang, or I would have come for you long ago.” Before Yao can answer, he tightens his grip and pushes him back down onto his cock.

Yao opens his mouth for Ivan, breathing in his scent and tightening his own grip on himself. He feels the push of Ivan’s grip and follows it, taking more until he nearly chokes. He does as that hand commands with a whine that is more felt than heard until he finally swallows around Ivan. His lips meet the fingers he has wrapped around the swollen base of Ivan’s cock, and that deserves a mental pat on the back. But they're moving slow now, too slow for Yao. He starts twisting his lips and pushing back against Ivan’s hand, half-demanding a faster pace. If Ivan wants control, he's going to have to work to keep it. But God, this is driving him wild, getting Ivan off in a club full of people. He almost wishes someone would walk in on them - he's impressing even himself right now.

Ivan has all but lost himself to Yao. He’s got both hands in Yao’s hair, which has come loose from its tie as his hands get rougher. He is focused entirely on his cock and the way Yao feels around it. He keeps thrusting and guiding Yao's movements by his hair, chasing the thrill. “ _Da_ ,” he groans. “More. More like that.”

Yao pulls back even as Ivan tries to push him back down. He sucks at the head of Ivan’s cock until Ivan finally shoves him back down, almost to the base. Yao knows Ivan’s almost there; he can feel him dribbling down his throat. His own cock is straining, but they can take care of that in another place. At this point, he’s quite determined to get Ivan in a bed tonight. He swallows and squeezes, working his mouth around Ivan until the man grunts and thrusts up hard.

Ivan comes with a shout that probably rivals the music from the club. It doesn't matter; why should he or Yao care what anyone else thinks? They have one another to enjoy, and woe be it to anyone who tries to stand in their way.

Yao milks him until he goes soft, stroking his thighs through the climax. Then he sits back on his knees and takes a long look at his disheveled lover. Ivan looks good like this, flushed and breathing hard, one hand still tangled in Yao’s hair. With a satisfied smirk Yao wipes his mouth and tucks Ivan back into his pants. He almost wonders how he's going to move without coming himself, but he’s sure of his own stamina. He stands and holds out a hand to Ivan. “Now you’ve seen my teeth. Take me home, and I’ll show you the rest of my dragon.”

* * *

 

1 - Sweet dreams!


	56. The Fine Print

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feliks reveals the truth about his past, but his confession may not be as private as he believes. Later, he and Toris must accept a grim prognosis for their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos/comments! As always, we love hearing from you. This chapter is a bit depressing, but VERY important. We're starting to connect all of the puzzle pieces that will take us to the finale. 
> 
> **Warning:** This chapter includes a brief mention of rape.

# The Fine Print

Feliks has had a strange morning, and thinking on it is keeping him from the afternoon nap he’d promised himself. Tino came in early to wheel him down the hall to get some tests done. Usually the nurse is happy to gossip with Feliks, but Tino seemed depressed and the conversation was subdued. Then Feliks was poked and prodded by his doctor, who, while generally kind, was given to responding to all non-medical related chatter with “hmm” and “uh-huh.” This time there had been little response at all, and the doctor was frowning as he took in Feliks’ increasingly thin frame.

When Tino took him back to his room, both he and Tino were startled to find that someone was already there. Feliks was even more surprised when the visitor turned out to be a man who introduced himself as Chief Zwingli. Feliks was briefly worried that Zwingli had come to ask him about Toris’ involvement with the Braginskis, especially given Toris’ recent reluctance to even mention his employer. However, once he’d been settled in bed the chief glared at him, tightly drew the curtain around his roommate’s bed, and proceeded to speak with Tino in hushed whispers. Feliks didn’t catch much beyond his last words: “Keep your eye on him, and tell Dr. Delgado to contact me the moment there’s any further change.”

With the chief and the nurse gone, the hospital room is both too quiet and too loud at the same time. The room is filled with the tick of the clock, the soft whirr and hum of equipment, the muted footsteps outside their door. Feliks’ head is filled, too. He can’t help recalling some of his own interactions with the police, back when he was La Citta’s stable master – especially the last one, and everything that followed it. _If you tell anyone…_

Feliks wishes he had someone to talk to, but all of his friends are busy or dealing with their own shit. He can’t blame them, although there’s a large, bitter part of him that feels like he’s been abandoned. Even Tino didn’t want to talk to him today.

He sniffs, fighting the urge to cry even though there is no one around to see or hear. Except…he glances over toward his roommate. Even though the curtain is drawn he can imagine the face; or rather, the face that isn’t there. It’s only bandages, with part of the mouth and nose showing. The rest of the body is covered in wires and blankets like some futuristic shroud.

Feliks shivers. He’s afraid of meeting the same fate, of ending up in a state of living death. If the cancer reaches his brain, will they open his head and cut him apart, as they have with this poor soul? Will they leave him like that for weeks on end, faceless, friendless, nameless? He has only ever heard the man referred to as “the patient” or “John Doe.” If Toris stopped coming, would they forget his name too?

With a breath to steel himself for the sight, he reaches over and draws back the pale blue curtain. There is no change in his roommate. Still bandaged, still silent as the grave. He swallows and realizes that for the first time in his life, he has no idea what to say.

“Hey,” he begins. Silence, save for the chorus of machines. “…so, um, it’s Feliks again. Your roommate. You’ve probably still got no clue you’re here with me. That’s cool. We can pretend we’re somewhere else. Wherever you want to be. But um, I wanted to know – what’s your name? Who are you?”

There’s no response from the other patient, but Feliks finds he doesn’t mind it so much. The more he talks, the easier it gets. “You must have someone paying for this, right? Unless you’re like, super rich, and you’ve got a bunch of cash stashed away for exactly this type of thing. Maybe that’s why the chief came in here? Oh! Are you a top-secret medical experiment or something? With like, monkey parts!”

Feliks laughs. “That’d be kinda cool. I don’t know that I’d want monkey parts, but hey, if it would make me better. I keep feeling worse. Tino’s been trying to help me through it. He’s the best. He’s good to you too. He doesn’t act like you’re a doll or something. But some of the other nurses are just, like, _so_ rude. They act like this is my fault, like I deserve to be sick. It’s not my fault though. I mean it is, but I didn’t…I didn’t do what they think I did. Even Toris. He doesn’t ask but I know what he thinks. I love him so, so much, and I…”

His voice cracks a little, and Feliks looks toward the ceiling. He doesn’t notice the footsteps pausing just outside his door. “I want to tell you how it was. I’ll go crazy if I don’t. Beilschmidt’s dead now, anyway, and it’s not like you can say anything, right? You’ll forget all this, when you wake up. You’ll forget me. That’s okay, I don’t want you to remember. I just need someone to listen. And you need someone to talk to you. So…so here it goes.

“That whole thing about the race track at La Citta, how they were drugging the horses? It’s all true. I’m the one who turned them in. I was the stable master, so when the horses kept getting sick I got suspicious. I changed their food, their water, cleaned out the stalls, different hay – it didn’t matter. Two of them died. I’m such an idiot. I didn’t figure out that they were being drugged until I caught some of the stable hands in the act. And I’m a bigger idiot for firing them and then _telling Ludwig_. Turns out the Beilschmidts were the ones fixing the races. They were making the horses sick just so the right people could make some extra money. No way was I going to stand for that.

“I knew they were watching me so I couldn’t go straight to the cops. I didn’t know who to trust, anyway – except a few friends at the Rainbow. I told Francis and made him promise not to tell that fucker Gilbert. Fran might have the _shittiest_ taste in lovers, but he isn’t stupid. He kept his promise, and he helped me get in contact with Arthur Kirkland instead.”

Feliks scoffs. “Kirkland’s the one who got all the credit and none of the consequences. I mean, I don’t really care that he got his picture all over the news and a promotion while I lost my job. I expected that, accepted it the minute I found out what was really going on. I guess I can’t really blame Kirkland at all, it isn’t his fault, what happened…happened next. But he could have at least tried to protect me! I sold out a bunch of fucking gangsters, including my _best friend_ , and the minute the trial was over, they left me on my own.”

He tries to swallow down his anger and lower his voice, but now that he’s talking he can’t stop himself. His fists clench the blankets with what little strength remains to him and the words push their way out of his mouth through gritted teeth. “Turns out Feliciano wasn’t the one I should’ve been worried about. He didn’t know about the drugs, either, and he didn’t care. It was all Gilbert _fucking_ Beilschmidt. He took me right off the street one night and dragged me back to the empty stables. Beat the shit out of me, told me he was going to ruin my life just like I’d ruined his. Then…then he said if I didn’t have sex with him, he’d kill Toris. So I let him. I let him take whatever the fuck he wanted, and he made me swear I’d never tell anyone what happened. I kept my promise. I couldn’t let him hurt Toris because of me. I told Toris I’d gotten mugged, and I thought that would be the end of it.

“It took me a month to realize what that monster really meant about ruining my life. He didn’t just rape me. He _infected_ me, and I had to let everyone believe that I’d cheated on Toris. I thought about telling Francis anyway. I mean, he was screwing the bastard, plus he’d helped me testify against the Beilschmidts. But when I went to see him…God, you should’ve seen the bruises on his face. I figured he already knew so I didn’t have to get in any more trouble by saying something. I guess I was wrong. If he really knew, he wouldn’t have kept seeing Beilschmidt, right? If he knew, or if Feliciano knew, they would have done something, they wouldn’t have just…just _let_ him get away with it!”

Feliks’ face is streaked with tears by the time he stops talking. His body curls in on itself and the sobs make his shoulders shake as he lets himself feel all the pain and anger that he’s been keeping locked away. He’s already grieved for the life he’s lost, for his beauty and his pain and everything Toris has had to go through, too. Yet in telling the truth to a total stranger he’s finally able to vent the fury he feels not only towards Gilbert but towards the friends who have, perhaps unconsciously, betrayed him.

Eventually his sobs die down enough for him to blow his nose and get a drink of water. He lies back against his pillows, emotionally and physically drained. “Sometimes I dream that I’m the one who pulled the trigger. I’d have put a bullet through his teeth, just to make it so he could never smile again. Then I wonder, what if Toris figured out what happened, and _he’s_ the one who shot Beilschmidt? But Toris would never hurt Hans, even if he _was_ a Beilschmidt too. He wouldn’t have hurt that other guy either. Toris doesn’t even know how to use a gun. At least…he didn’t used to.”

Feliks sniffs and wipes his eyes, forcing himself away from that train of thought. He turns his head so he can look at his roommate. “Sorry. You probably don’t need to hear all this when you’re hurting too. I hope you wake up soon. I bet you’ve got someone missing you somewhere, and I want someone to talk to – even if you really _do_ have monkey brains.”

There’s an odd noise then that doesn’t quite go with the hum of equipment. Feliks frowns and looks around the room for the source, his gaze eventually landing on the door. Just when he’s decided the noise must have come from the hall, it happens again, louder this time and accompanied by a hitch in the usual steady beat of his roommate’s monitors. Feliks stares at the other patient, eyes narrowed for any signs of life. And then, his delight and astonishment, the patient groans.

“Holy shit. Did that actually work? Did I wake you up? Or maybe that cop woke you and I wasn’t paying attention, or-“

His roommate sighs, and Feliks reaches for the call button. “Right, right! Gotta call someone. I can’t believe this! Welcome back, monkey brains! And uh, do me a favor – if you remember a word of what I just said, don’t tell anybody. It’s not going to change anything now, and it would break Toris’ heart.”

Then the door opens and a nurse rushes in. Behind him, almost unnoticed, is Ivan Braginski with a vase of sunflowers and a shark’s smile.

XXX

It’s the first chance Toris has had in days to see Feliks - well, the first official chance. He snuck off once in the middle of all the drama just to make sure his boyfriend was alright, and to have five minutes where the world didn't feel like it was crumbling. Today he smiles as he taps on the door, bypassing the first set of curtains and heading toward the far bed. It's mid-afternoon and the sunlight is floating through the blinds, making the sleeping Feliks look like an angel. He's wearing one of the hats Katyusha knitted for him, curled up on his side underneath several blankets piled up to keep the chill out of his bones. Toris sits on the edge of the bed, kisses his cheek, and gently strokes his shoulder. Feliks stirs, taking his time in waking, and Toris looks out toward the window.

He pales. There are sunflowers on the window sill. Bright, blooming sunflowers, catching the sun through their petals and basking in it.

Toris stares for a couple of seconds, then rolls from the bed to inspect the vase. Maybe Liza or Feliciano brought them - but no. His gut is telling him no. He knows who brought the flowers. Somehow he’d lulled himself into believing that Ivan would pay all the bills and never get this close to Feliks. Yet here he stands, staring at sunflowers in his lover's room and wondering what else Ivan left.

Toris jumps when a hand suddenly tugs on his own, but when he turns he sees it’s only Feliks. Smiling sheepishly, he takes that hand and slides into the bed next to him. “Hey,” he says, still watching the sunflowers out of the corner of his eye. “Who brought those?”

Feliks frowns, following Toris' gaze. The window sill is covered with cards, hats, flowers, candy that he can no longer eat, and a stuffed pony. A good half of it is from Toris himself. “Brought what?”

“The sunflowers,” says Toris.

“Oh.” Feliks’ forehead scrunches up as he tries to remember. “Actually, I think your boss left them with the nurses’ station while I was asleep. He left a note that said he was sorry for keeping you this week. Really sweet. Still totally scary, though.”

A shudder runs down Toris’ spine. He swallows hard and closes his eyes, mindful of the fact that the flowers are probably bugged. “Yeah. He's okay.” Sometimes. When he's not insane.

Toris lets it go and tries to take his mind off of it by sinking into Feliks' scent. That too makes him sad, because it's barely there anymore. Feliks used to wear perfume that smelled like lotus flowers and nectarines, or rose hips and chocolate - all manner of strange combinations. They always managed to suit him, and the season, and what he was wearing that day. Now he smells like iodine and hospital soap, but the softness of him is still there, still lingering. “I've missed you.”

Feliks yawns and snuggles closer. “Missed you too.”

“I brought soup, if you're up for it later. Chicken with stars. Sorry I didn't have time to do the real stuff.” Toris laughs sheepishly. “I did bring bread, though. Crusty bread.”

“Don't feel good.” Feliks buries his face in Toris' shoulder. Just the thought of eating makes him nauseous, and chewing is an actual effort anymore. Tino has been at his wit's end trying to get Feliks to consume something, but nothing tastes good or stays down, so why bother?

Toris sighs and slides his hand up Feliks’ shoulder, trying not to worry so much. Of course, that's impossible. But he makes a solid effort. “Do you want me to get someone?” he asks softly.

Feliks shakes his head. “I've had it up to here with doctors. Oh, actually they wanted to talk to you about my treatment. Well, he wanted to talk to me, but Tino made them wait until you got here. He's totally awesome, you know. But he's been really sad lately. It feels like everyone has. I don't like it.”

“Yeah. It's been a rough couple of weeks around here.” Toris sighs and presses a hand to Feliks' chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat. “I'll talk to them. They probably just want to switch up your meds. So, what's new, babe?”

Feliks rests against Toris' shoulder, feeling both very light and very heavy at once. More sleep would be nice, but he doesn't want to sleep while Toris is here. He needs to enjoy his company while he can. He swallows and tries to think of happier things. “Oh, well, it’s actually kind of interesting here now.” He glances to the other side of the room and lowers his voice to a whisper. “My roomie? Totally waking up. He started making noise and moving a little. I think he's got serious brain damage, though, because even when the doc came in to see him and got him talking a little, he just kept repeating 'rebluh.’”

Toris raises an eyebrow, looking up at the curtains across the room and the figure half-hidden by them. The other patient isn't moving now, and Toris has a hard time believing he would, considering he's been comatose since he was moved in. “'Rebluh'?” He chuckles a little. “You're kidding.”

Feliks pokes Toris' arm. “I'm serious! Maybe I'm hearing him wrong. Oh! What if he's saying 'redrum,' like that movie? It's murder backwards!”

Toris raises both eyebrows now and decides he definitely needs to talk to the doctor about switching up Feliks’ meds. “Babe... He's in a coma.”

“People can wake up from those. Otherwise why would people be taking care of him, huh?” Feliks pouts, but his smile returns quickly. He’s glad he can still summon up the energy to have these silly arguments with his boyfriend. He grabs Toris’ hand again and leans up to kiss his lips. “I love you, y'know.”

The sudden, tender kiss surprises Toris. “I love you too,” he replies, dragging a hand up to cup Feliks’ pale cheek. “I missed that. Kiss me again.”

Feliks does, sweet and slow, lingering against Toris’ mouth even though he's sure his own tastes like sour sand. Somewhere in the back of his mind Feliks is beginning to accept that their time is limited, and growing shorter by the day. He's been fighting for so long, but now he's just so tired. He needs to tell Toris how much he loves him more often, so that he'll remember if he gets lonely in the days to come.

Toris can tell something's wrong when he pulls away. The kiss was sweet, but it held something else, something that bothers him now. He presses a kiss to Feliks’ forehead, shoving the feeling under a rug along with all his other worries. “You make me so happy, Feliks.”

“You're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me, Toris. I wish...” There's a knock at the door, and all Feliks’ wishes are left in the breath between them. “Come in!”

“Good afternoon,” says Doctor Delgado. He enters the room with Tino at his side, the later looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Is now a good time? I can leave you to yourselves and come back in...” he checks his watch, “half an hour.”

Toris is half-tempted to accept the offer. On the other hand, he'd much rather get this over with so that they can have some more time to themselves. “We can talk now. Right?”

Feliks nods and forces himself to sit up. “Yeah. I'm...well, I'm awake.”

Tino breathes out slowly, entering the room with careful, measured steps. He's afraid to have this conversation - been afraid of it for months. But the doctor says it's time. It's well past time. “Do you need an extra pillow?” he asks, stalling.

“Nah, I've got one right here.” Feliks pats Toris' leg, although he’s not sure he wants Toris here for this after all. Tino’s expression is already confirming his worst fears.

“Good. It's nice to have someone to lean on in times like these,” says the doctor. He clears his throat and brings up the appropriate charts on the screen of his tablet. “Feliks, we've been watching your numbers. The reason you've been feeling so weak lately is because they're not very good. I was hoping that if we pushed the therapy hard enough, you'd bounce back around, but it doesn't look like that's happening. These drugs, unfortunately, do not target the illness as well as we'd like them to. They kill a lot of good cells along with the bad ones. I'm very sorry, but at this point my recommendation is that we end treatment. Your body just can't handle it anymore.”

Toris feels like his heart is falling through him and onto the scratchy hospital sheets, still beating and pumping the blood from his body. No. No, this isn't happening. “You... But, you can't! You can't just... There has to be _something_!”

Doctor Delgado shakes his head. He could tell them that in some cases the blood count goes back up when they pause treatment, and then they can start it again. But in this case it would only be cruel. Feliks doesn't have that kind of time. “I will not give you any false hope. Right now, we're going to focus on making you as comfortable as possible. You may even start to feel better, and we will certainly be able to control the pain.”

It’s only when the doctor says that line _“as comfortable as possible”_ that Feliks really understands. They only say that to people when there’s nothing else they can do. The doctor doesn’t think there’s any point in fighting anymore, and he...he's just so tired. “How long?”

Tino moves toward them slowly, keeping a careful eye on the pair’s expressions and trying to school his own. He wonders if he shouldn’t have encouraged Feliks to keep pushing so hard, if he should have agreed with Delgado months ago when the doctor suggested they consider stopping the treatment and offering Feliks more time free of pain. But back then there had still been a chance; Feliks had _wanted_ to fight, and both he and the doctor had wanted to give him the option. There’s no use second guessing it now, anyway, or worrying over calls he could have made.

Doctor Delgado takes a breath before he speaks, and his eyes hold sincere sorrow and sympathy as he answers Feliks. “A month. Maybe longer, depending on how your body responds.”

“A month?” Toris whispers. He goes lightheaded, his body falling back to the pillows as though he's the sick one. But his body is shaking, vibrating with energy and grief that he has to hold in. He wants to scream, _'Who are you, coming in here, telling us my boyfriend is going to die? You're the one who was supposed to make him better! You're the one who was supposed to HELP!’_ But that's not how this works, and Feliks doesn't need to see it. Toris pulls him closer, tucking his arms around his waist. “A month?” he asks again.

Tino is afraid he'll never get Toris’ expression out of his head. He's always been good at separating himself from the sad circumstances of his patients; but Feliks and Toris are his _friends_. He used to stay on their couch on the nights he was afraid to go home. They never asked questions, they just left the door open for him. He feels like he's failed them, like he's hurting them when they've given him so much.

Feliks squeezes Toris' hand. It's funny, he expected to feel more emotional about the news of his own impending death. Sad, frightened, angry, _something_. Instead he feels mostly numb. Maybe it’s because he's known the truth deep down, ever since the doctor said they needed to talk. No, before that; when his flu was not the flu and that _first_ doctor said they needed to talk. Or maybe he’s known since Gilbert cornered him in the empty stables. One month to live, and what's he done with his life? Saved a few horses, maybe, and put his boyfriend through hell.

The emotions break free slowly. Feliks’ heart wrenches and his tears choke up his throat. He clutches at Toris. If he holds on tight, death will have to work hard to pry them apart. “I...you need to go now,” he tells the doctor. “Please, just let me stay with him.”

Toris breathes in and presses his face into Feliks' shoulder, unwilling to let go just yet. He tells himself that it isn’t happening, even as everything in him crumbles because he knows it's true. The doctor leaves, and although Tino lingers a moment longer he, too, leaves them to grieve. They're alone now, stuck with the knowledge that there isn't any time left. Just a month, maybe a little more.

Feliks curls up against Toris and cries into his hair. He's only twenty-three. Twenty-three, and dying! He won't even make it to his next birthday. Or Toris'. The thought of leaving Toris behind is really the worst part of this. From the way Toris has been talking, he’s terrified of what Toris will do once he’s gone. He's thought about trying to make him angry, to make it so Toris won’t care so much. But Toris is his everything, and Feliks needs him now more than ever, no matter how selfish it seems.

He pushes Toris back and grabs his face, then leans in and kisses him, long and slow. It feels good to kiss him, and it lets him pour out all of the love and the hurt he can’t put into words. He doesn't want to pull away. What's air to him when he’s dying? Certainly not as important as his boyfriend’s mouth.

Toris kisses him back with just as much need and more. He's scared. How is he going to live without this man in his life? He finally pulls back to meet Feliks’ eyes and whispers, “I love you. I'm going to love you forever. I'll never let go of you.”

Feliks shakes his head. “You _have_ to, Toris. You have to let me go, or I'll just hold you back. I couldn't stand that.” He takes the hand against his cheek and kisses it. “You've got a job, you have a place to live, you have years left. You'll...you can be happy. I hope you will be. I love you so much, and I want you to be happy.”

“I'm not going to move on from you,” Toris replies. It’s the one thing he's certain of. Feliks is it for him, the one that he's going to love for the rest of his sad, lonely existence. He's going to hold on and hope and pray that Feliks is there on the other side, waiting for him, because that is going to be the only thing that will keep him from going off the deep end. “I'll be happy, but I'm not going to move on from you. Not ever.”

Feliks isn’t sure if he hopes that's true or not. He leans in close again and rests against Toris. He’s still crying, but he pushes words past the lump in his throat because he’s afraid he’ll lose the chance to say them. “Whatever happens, I will always be with you. That much I'm sure of. I will always, always love you, so much that the devil himself isn't going to drag me away.”

“The devil's not getting anywhere near you,” Toris says, folding Feliks into his arms. He breathes him in and tries to forget. Forget that he's dying, forget that they may not even have tomorrow. He swallows hard. Feliks wants him to live on, and that he has to respect. He’ll do his best for Feliks’ sake. It's then that the tears show, and he presses his face into Feliks’ shoulder so that his boyfriend doesn't see them. “I will never, ever stop loving you.”

“I know,” Feliks says. “I should have married you. Should have...well. Forget it. We can't change things now. I'm just...I'm really glad I have you here.” Feliks knows Toris is crying too, but he doesn’t care. They can cry together. They can hold each other close until the exhaustion, the grief, and the love between them wash everything else away.


	57. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eduard's renewed relationship with Emil leads to yet another argument with Raivis. Lukas has a talk with his brother, swearing that he is done with Mattias. Over at the Rainbow, Antonio forces Francis to choose between a date with Alfred and a date with him, and Alfred receives a foreboding phone call from Ivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE LIVE. So sorry for the long delay between updates! We decided to add the last section of this chapter in order to fill in a few plot holes and develop the relationship between Ivan and Alfred, which we haven't explicitly shown in several chapters. As usual, it took a while for us to communicate and complete it since we both work. Thank you for your patience, and once again we promise that the story does have an ending!

Emil is at the breakfast table. _Their_ breakfast table. He's been there for a week now, and it’s driving Raivis _batshit_. Yao has also been at the manor house for a week, and despite the fact that he and Ivan are far more public with their affection, Raivis is much more annoyed by Emil’s quiet presence. His cornflakes are tasteless and there’s nothing for it. All he can do is glare at the waste of oxygen and wish he'd disappear.

Eduard enters the room with a yawn, trying to stretch out the kinks in his muscles that come from sharing a bed with someone who really does not like to cuddle. Emil likes his space and Eduard is happy to give it to him, especially considering all the things that Emil has been dealing with at home. He heads for the fridge with a quick, “Morning,” to Emil and Raivis. The sight of Emil reading the newspaper and pointedly ignoring the death glare Raivis is sending him has become strangely normal.

“Good morn…”

“Morning,” Raivis says, talking over Emil. He can see red marks on Eddie’s neck. He grits his teeth and stabs his spoon into his cornflakes. 

Emil, once again, ignores this and pushes the Technology section of the newspaper over to the place-setting next to him. “They set a release date for that game you were talking about.”

“Oh? Awesome.” Eduard sets down his cereal and orange juice, then scans the article. “I'm so excited for this. The graphics are going to be amazing, and it's got multi-player mode.”

“They say it's going to be freaking awesome. Thirty possible endings. I love that,” says Emil, pointing to a screenshot from the game alongside the article. “Has anybody been talking about that shooter you were so into? I thought they were going to have a sequel, but it's been a year and there's silence in the forums.”

“Yeah, I was disappointed about that. Kinda seems like I'm the only one who loved it. But hey, I think I have some alternate reasons for enjoying multiplayer shooters.” Eddie smiles, heat rising to his cheeks, and touches Emil's back. Because he _can_ touch him, he's allowed, because they're something more than friends now.

Raivis narrows his eyes, sipping his juice. _'Well, aren't you two the happy couple?'_ he wants to snap, but that would be stupid. And selfish. And... juvenile. He drops his eyes to his cereal, stabbing it, hating himself. He needs to think of something that will get Emil out of Eddie's life for good. Graduation's in a couple of weeks, and soon... Soon Eddie will be out of _his_ life.

Raivis drops his spoon, unable to watch them play the happy couple anymore. The private jokes, the adorable smiles, the touching - he can't stand it. He pushes the bowl away and grabs his juice, heading to the living room and slamming the door behind him.

Eduard jumps at the sound and blushes darker. It's not fair. He’s spent nearly a year dealing with Kaoru, who was mean and obnoxious and groped Raivis right in front of him. Emil is quiet, solemn, and steady. Raivis should have nothing to complain about, yet Eddie finds himself feeling guilty. “I'm sorry. He's just...difficult.”

Emil smiles, letting some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “It's alright. He doesn't bother me. Actually, he's been pretty okay, comparatively.”

Eddie tries to smile back, but doesn't quite manage. “I guess he is.”

The doorbell rings, and a few moments later one of the guards comes in. “There’s a Lukas Bondevik outside. He says that he would like to see his brother.”

They both freeze, and Eduard finds himself squeezing Emil's hand. “You don't have to talk to him if you don’t want to. We can make him leave, or tell him to send a message.”

The pressure on Emil’s hand is comforting; indeed, it's the only thing keeping him grounded. However, there comes a time when avoiding things is no longer an option. He'd rather rip the band-aid off now than later. “I need to talk to him sometime,” he says.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Eduard asks.

Emil shakes his head, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss against Eddie's cheek. “My brother, my problem.” He raises an eyebrow, as if to say _'And your brother is your problem.'_ He follows the guard out to the front door and finds his brother on the porch. “You look like shit. Which is better than usual, by the way,” says Emil.

Lukas can’t really argue with that. Mattias hadn't cared that Emil was missing. After Lukas spent a week 'ignoring' his wishes in favor of asking after his brother, last night Matt had decided that Luk cared too much. He’s tried to cover it, but the black eye is a nasty one. Emil, on the other hand, looks like he’s gained a bit of color in his face. Thank God. He was afraid the Braginskis would hurt him. “You look...good,” he says, unable to come up with anything better.

Emil crosses his arms over his chest, trying not to blush or bow his head or do anything that makes it look like he's been deflowered in the last few days. Harder than it sounds. Breathing out a soft sigh, he takes a step out onto the porch. “If you're coming to tell me everything's changed, that I can come home, I don't believe you.”

Lukas keeps his mouth closed for a moment. He tried to make up a speech on his way over, but he’s never been good with words. Mattias talked enough for all three of them. Besides, now that he sees Emil is okay he’s wondering if he’s better off here than at the apartment. On the other hand, this is the Braginski house, and he has responded to far too many emergency calls over the last few weeks to believe this house is safe. “Please come home, Emil. It's...you...you were right.” The words seem to claw his throat on the way out, but they needed to be said.

Emil’s eyes widen and he steps back, as if waiting for a trap door to open beneath his feet. How long has he been waiting to hear that? He swallows hard, trying to hold back tears. “You're so... I mean... How can you...?” Now he can't figure out what to say either. He settles for a sigh. “Listen, I can't just... If I come home, we need a plan.”

“I know,” Lukas whispers. Part of him is afraid Ivan's men will talk to Mattias, or that Matt himself will appear out of nowhere. “I think...” He swallows and reminds himself that the time for thinking has passed. He wants to get his old life back, the version of himself that was never unsure. The trouble is he cannot simply erase a year’s worth of doubt and fear in a few days, nor can he forget his feelings for his boyfriend. Because even now, he still loves Matt.

“We need to leave,” he says at last. “We're _going_ to leave. You're going to graduate, and we'll go somewhere together where you can go to college. He won't know. He's never...never bothered to ask about you.”

This is a dangerous conversation to have among prying ears. “Let me get my coat. We'll go get coffee somewhere,” Emil says. He doesn't mention the rest of his things. He'll decide whether or not he's coming home later.

Lukas nods, expecting no more from Emil, least of all his trust. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve anything from Emil at all. “I'll wait here.”

Emil returns to the kitchen, ruffling Eddie's hair as he walks past him. “We're going for coffee.”

Eduard stands and follows him to the coat closet, frowning. He's afraid for Emil, and, selfishly, afraid that he won't come back. It's been so nice having him here, able to touch him, kiss him, and simply sit and talk with someone who understands. However, this is Emil’s choice and he deserves the chance to work things out with his brother. He grabs Emil’s hand and squeezes it. “Okay. Just let me know what's going on, please? I don't want to see anything bad happen to you.”

Emil smiles and pulls Eduard in by the hand to kiss his mouth. They're not ending here. In fact, this is just the beginning. “I'll come back tonight, no matter what happens.”

Emil returns to the porch with Eduard in tow, and Lukas watches them pause by the door and embrace. He’s not surprised, but he wonders how long it’s been since they got back together. Has he truly been so lost that he missed his brother's reunion with his boyfriend? It's a frightening thought. It's good for Emil to have someone else, so long as Eduard doesn't drag him into the Braginski family business. But even then, what could Lukas say? He hasn't given Emil many reasons to listen to him lately, or to trust him. He hardly trusts himself. Last night, he honestly wasn’t sure if Mattias was going to let him go. All Matt's sweet apologies and gentleness this morning couldn't make up for it anymore. Lukas swallows and looks away from the door. “Come on. We can get waffles from that place you like.”

Emil looks away from Eddie and back to his brother, who seems... uncomfortable. Of course he's uncomfortable. He presses a quick kiss to Eddie's cheek and then slips out of his arms. He follows his brother off the porch and out into the real world, refusing to let himself turn back to the almost-safety of the Braginski manor. Nowhere is ever going to be really safe. Not in this town.

Raivis watches them go through the kitchen window, gritting his teeth and wishing the boy would stay gone. The chances of that are slim, now that he’s together with Eddie again. He swallows the last of his juice and turns back to the fridge, looking for a snack. He has to grab something and go; he can't stick around here and watch Eduard pine for his boyfriend.

Eduard returns to his cereal. He starts to say something about what a dick Raivis has been to Emi, but decides against it. He doesn’t want to start anything, especially when they'd been doing _so well_ before Emil came, before Raivis caught them in bed. He blushes and shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

Raivis comes up with baby carrots and celery. He smacks the fridge closed, looking for a ziplock bag to fill. “Well, that was _adorable_ ,” he snaps, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eduard shoots a glare at him, determined not to fight – at least, not much. “He's trying to deal with his brother's incredibly abusive boyfriend. I wasn't going to leave him without some support.”

“Uh-huh. So that's what you're calling it these days?” Raivis snaps the ziplock closed and shoves it in his backpack. “Didn't know that required nudity. And grunting. Oh, and by the way, if a dude's shouting ‘ _Ow, fuck, hold on,_ ’ you're doing it wrong.” He opens the fridge again, returning the vegetables and searching for a drink.

“I know that!” Eduard shouts, his ears turning pink. He and Emil are both inexperienced; one night at the Rainbow certainly wasn’t going to do _that_ much for him. As for Emil, life with his brother and Mattias has made him wary of intimacy in general. He was even afraid of the bruises he left from sucking on Eddie's neck; to him, every mark is a sign of pain. That made Eddie careful too, but... His blush darkens and he winds up turning his embarrassment on Raivis. “ _We_ haven't been bending over for stupid shits like Kaoru since we were 14.”

Raivis flushes, his blood burning with anger. He slams the fridge shut and steps back against the counter, feeling cornered. He's never been called a slut before, but he's starting to wonder if that's what Eddie thinks of him. If that's the case, his heart won't recover. Like a cat, he extends his claws when he's cornered. “Right, 'cause that makes you _so_ much better. Go ahead and sit on your high horse, pretend like you're better than me. But I'm the only person on this earth who knows you. And you just lost me.” He grabs his bag, gritting his teeth to keep tears at bay, and heads out to the living room.

Eduard runs after him, shouting like a child throwing a tantrum. “You don't know me! You haven't got a clue, you just can't stand the thought that I might have _anyone_ but you in my life!” He stops in the doorway when he realizes what he’s doing. Damnit, he swore he was done fighting! Done caring what Raivis thinks and trying to make him understand. But no matter what he does, Raivis has always been the one who matters the most to Eduard. He doesn't know how to let go of Raivis anymore than Raivis knows how to let go of him.

Raivis whips back around, refusing to show how hurt he is, and how very right Eduard is. “You think you're so fucking smart, Eddie? You think you've got me all figured out? Go ahead! Go be with him! I don't give a shit anymore!”

“Fine,” Eduard hisses. “You can stay here and rot then, and I'll stop caring about this boy I used to know, used to-”

The front door opens and Toris enters, eyes on the floor. Eduard’s mouth snaps shut. Just the sight of him makes him feel like a complete ass for arguing about stupid things with Raivis. Toris’ boyfriend is dying, his time running out like sand in an hour glass. Eduard’s problems seem foolish in comparison.

Raivis watches Toris walk away, anger deflating slowly as sadness takes its place. Nothing ever turns out happily, does it? He looks at Eduard, trying to forget the words he knows Eddie was about to say. They hang in the air like the stench of bad perfume, and eventually Raivis turns away. “Look, forget I said anything. This is stupid,” he mutters.

Eduard looks down, ashamed. What right does he have to feel so hurt? Just the thought of Raivis or Emil dying makes his throat close up. He’s suddenly terrified that Raivis will never come back, and he can’t let this argument be the last thing he says to him. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean those things.”

Raivis pauses in the doorway, but he doesn’t look back. He's sure his emotions are written all over his face right now, and he doesn’t want Eddie to see them. “Yes you did,” he says softly. “And it's okay. Most of it was true.”

Raivis leaves then, refusing to let Eddie feel any more guilt over him. He doesn't want his love this way. Raivis just wants... He wants him. He wants them, the way they were, and maybe a little more. That's all he's ever needed. He guesses Eddie needs more now, and maybe he does too.

XXX

Across town, Francis is washing up after a nap and some brunch. He keeps odd hours, like everyone at the Rainbow, so it can be difficult to find time to meet up with friends and lovers who work during the day. The police work some late hours too, however, and Francis has managed to keep his promise to his angels and visit them every so often. Especially Alfred, though those may count as more than visits. Once Matthew leaves, or if he’s not around, talking with Alfred inevitably lead to kisses, and the kisses generally lead to sex. After their last encounter, however, Alfred declared that Francis ‘deserved’ far more and decided to plan a date when they both had time off. It’s been a long time since Francis went on a date that he wasn’t being paid for, and he’s delighted by the butterflies that fill his stomach at the prospect.

The door swings open while Francis is staring at his shirts, trying to decide between the black one and the blue one. No doubt it's Liza, or a message from her, sending him some last-minute client. He groans and refuses to turn, addressing his comments to his clothes as he smooths them out. “I already told you, I’m taking the afternoon off. I’ve worked every night this week as well as three of the days, and there is not enough money in the world to keep me here today.”

“Francis.”

That voice does not belong to the Madam. Francis whirls around, putting on the smile he reserves for the ones who are his lovers, not his clients. “Toni! What are you doing here, my darling?”

Francis comes over and leans in to kiss him, but Toni pulls away, refusing to accept the kiss until he can assess Francis’ face and see whether or not he is truly happy to see him. It's there, in the soft corners of Francis’ lips and the crinkle around his eyes. But it’s not quite the kind of smile Francis has had for him before. The man has blown off his texts, his calls, everything for the last three days. Antonio doesn't like it. He could deal with the new boy he's been seeing; it's Francis’ nature to play with pretty things. But he will not be neglected, not by the one he loves so much.

“Came to see you,” he says. He watches the emotion in Francis’ eyes flicker, one hand sliding between them to present him with a single lily. “S'been a while.”

Francis takes the lily and smells it, his smile fading just a bit. “It has, far longer than I like,” he admits. “I’ve been so busy these past few weeks. Liza and I have been trying to keep everyone safe, with all the violence. Keep them off the streets. There’ve been a lot of important clients, too; people are frightened, and the government is agitated. We need to keep them happy, to make them believe everything is safe before they make it worse.” He does not add that he’s used his free time to check in on Matthew, Arthur, and Alfred, and keep up with his growing list of promises. It's worth it, but he has missed getting the chance to see one of his oldest and dearest lovers.

Toni offers him a little smile, tapping Francis’ chin and caressing his cheek. “You moved all our dates. You haven't returned my calls. It's been a week. C'mon - I've missed you, Frannie. Let me stay with you. We’ll make a day of it.”

Francis puts the flower aside and draws Toni in for a kiss, this time making sure the man meets his lips. It gives him time to calculate what to say next, what to do. He so wants to see his angel, and he knows Alfred made plans for them. He and Toni have been together for years; surely the man can wait one more day. “I _am_ sorry, Toni,” Francis says, pulling away. “You know I want to see you, but today I have someone to meet.”

Toni’s face changes into a snarl and his hand clamps down on Francis’ arm, pulling him back. “You're meeting your 'angels.' Your little _cop_ and his _cop friend_ ,” he hisses, squeezing Francis’ arm and refusing to let him leave. “Don't go.”

Francis’ eyes widen, his mind reeling. Toni _knows_? Not just that he’s seeing Alfred, but that both he and Matthew are cops? But of course he’d know, if someone told Ludwig and he sent those thugs after Matthew. His chest constricts, compressing his heart and lungs and sending cold chills through his body. What if it's his fault Matthew got hurt? What if Toni knows where they live and sends someone to finish off both Matthew and Alfred? Toni has an iron grip around Francis’ wrist, the one that was broken not so long ago. It frightens him. Toni’s never been this way around Francis before. He often forgets that his Antonio is a dangerous man, as dangerous as any Beilschmidt or Vargas. He tries to pull his arm away, but the grip only tightens. “Toni, stop! You're hurting me!” he shouts.

Toni freezes, looking down at Francis’ arm. Oh. He lets go, fingers shaking, and moves away a little to give Francis some space. “I'm sorry,” he says. He truly is. He breathes out slowly and turns away for a moment. “I just... I don't like it. And I miss you.” He turns back to Francis, taking his hand. “Don't you miss me?”

Francis breathes carefully, trying to quell his fears. He shouldn't be afraid of Toni, the one who's always protected him. He squeezes Toni’s hand and steps back into the reach of his embrace. “Of course I do. I _love_ you,” he insists.

He considers his options for a moment, letting his head rest on Toni’s shoulder while the man gently strokes his arm. He could stay. Alfred would give him that disappointed puppy look, but he’d understand. Yet now there’s something suffocating about his room at the Rainbow, and the smell of Toni’s cologne is calling up too many memories, the bad tainting the good and leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He needs to go out, he needs to be with someone new and bright and young, someone who doesn’t remind him of others he’s loved and lost. Besides, he’s not the only one with other lovers, other promises to keep. Toni can be a jealous man sometimes, but he is _always_ a loyal one. He looks up and meets Toni’s eyes. “If I stayed today, we wouldn’t have much time. Lovino’s cousin – you know Romeo, of course? He said they were having some sort of meeting tonight at the casino. Lovino will want you there; he’ll need you, if what I hear is true.”

Lovino... As much as Toni hates to admit it, Francis is right. He’s only here now because Lovi was having some sort of secret family meeting, and between that and the bigger meeting tonight the poor kid was definitely going to need some support, even if he’d never ask for it. Toni sighs and wraps his arms around Francis, planting a kiss on his lips.

“Tomorrow,” he says. It's not a request. Tomorrow he'll have Francis again - they'll be _them_ again. Maybe Toni will be able to take him away from that stupid police boy. Get the money together, get Lovino and Francis and himself out of this crazy city and leave everyone else to work out their own bullshit for once.

“Tomorrow,” Francis promises, barely able to hide his relief. He kisses Toni’s mouth again, and then his hand. “If you come in the morning we will have plenty of time. Then we can go back to work at night, if you need to help Lovino take care of…” Francis pales. Toni's jealous streak has given him some bad habits, especially when those habits play right into his boss' hand. “Toni, you won't hurt my angels, will you? Or if someone orders you to, give me some time. I'll get them out of the way, I know I can make them leave. Just please, promise me you won’t-”

Toni presses a finger to his lover's lips. “Don't worry about it. They're not the problem in this town.” He kisses Francis one more time and gently caresses the wrist he’d squeezed, soothing it. “I'll be in touch,” he promises. He pulls away and slips out the door, contemplating his options. He'll do as Francis asks, if those cops ever come up again. But with the grim shit Ivan's been tossing at them lately, he has a feeling the police are the least of their worries.

Francis watches him leave, slightly shaken by the event and slightly offended by those final, coddling words, but sure that Toni will keep his promise. Tomorrow they’ll fix things between them, and for today he will forget. He rubs his wrist, shivers, and goes back to picking out a shirt, trying to recall why it mattered.

XXX

The Casino Bar is dead tonight, and Alfred is glad for the lack of clientele. No one is here, not even the Rainbow's usual escorts. The threat of violence seems to have settled over the casino, and it’s clearly bad for business. It must be panicking that German guy upstairs, but that's the last thing on Alfred’s mind tonight. The first thing is Francis. Francis, who's supposed to meet him here at ten, who's supposed to have drinks and be charmed and not fall into bed with him for once. Because they're more than that; they're more than sex. He grins to himself. Tonight's going to be good for them. 

His phone rings suddenly, echoing through the strange emptiness of the room. The bartender jolts. Alfred frowns down at the number. It isn’t one he recognizes, but sometimes Arthur uses junk phones when he doesn’t want to get caught with a cell full of police numbers. “Jones here,” he answers.

"Privyet, officer. I have a task for you."

Alfred sits up straight, looking down at the phone in shock. "I-Ivan?"

He hasn't heard a word from Ivan Braginski since the man’s sister was killed and all those rumors of Ivan’s rampage started to spread. True or not, it’s a shock to hear from someone who's accused of going off the deep end so... head-first. He chooses his words carefully. "Ah, how's it going?"

Ivan chuckles. "Better, thank you. But I did not call to discuss my health or yours. I need your help with an investigation. Are you alone?"

Alfred looks around. The bartender is in his stock room, pretending he's not listening. He's got to chance it. "Um. Yeah. What's... What's on your mind?"

"We have already discussed my...circumstances, in relation to the rest of our fine police force. This, however, is a bit more personal. I have evidence from my poor Natalia's murder, but if I give it to anyone else you know they will not let me pursue the case. She is family, after all, and doing so might jeopardize my judgment and my position. I need you to take the evidence in. Give it to your criminologists, but don't tell anyone where it is from. Don't let them take this case from me," says Ivan.

Something about this is making Alfred really uneasy. Well, something besides the string of bodies that have been left in the wake of the Braginski name since Natalia's untimely death. "I don't know, Ivan. Maybe you should let us handle it so you don't look suspicious to the people you're working with."

"I don't think they are the ones getting suspicious. I warned you once before not to believe everything that you hear about me," says Ivan. Alfred is naive and easy to manipulate, and Ivan is well aware that means anyone else could manipulate him, too. Ivan does not like sharing his toys, and he'd prefer not to see the young officer get himself killed (not yet, at least). "Be careful who you trust. Of course you should not trust me, but do you really think the people you work with are any better? Do you think they would understand that Natalia died because of me, because of our work together for something so much greater than they know?"

Alfred's heart softens. "She knew," he says quietly, certain of it now. "You told her." That had to be it. Someone found out that Ivan was undercover law and took matters into their own hands.

"Of course. She is my sister, and she has been my eyes and ears for a long time. She is...she was, very clever. She knew many things I never said," Ivan replies, his voice wavering for just an instant as he shares that bitter truth.

Alfred breathes in and looks toward the stock room. He doesn't see the bartender anymore, but he is sure someone's listening. He murmurs low, leaning on the bar. "What do you need me to do?"

"You know of my son, Raivis, yes? And the school? Is a safe place. Good place for an officer to be without arousing suspicion. You will be there to check on a disturbance call. A little fight, that's all. And while you are there my boy will hand you a package with what I have gathered. Some fabric, hair - and a bullet. Take it to your criminologists. Tell me what they find, and tell _no one else_. Understand?"

"Yeah," Alfred says, something in his gut telling him it's better to simply agree. "Yeah, I got it." He chews on his lower lip. He trusts Ivan, even with all the bodies that have cropped up lately. He'd probably bash some heads in too if anything ever happened to Mattie or... Wait. "Hey, listen. What do you know about my partner getting burned?"

"Your partner?" says Ivan. "I am afraid I have been distracted. What happened?"

"Mattie. Ah, Matthew Williams, he's... We're partners. He got jumped about a week ago, some guys figured out he was a cop. You know anything about that?"

Ivan frowns. That is an unexpected bit of information - though perhaps not so surprising, in the grand scheme of things. There are plenty of dirty cops around (and some who do not even realize it, like Alfred). He doesn’t remember the name Matthew Williams, nor can he recall seeing Alfred with any partner besides Arthur Kirkland. Then again, Yao _did_ mention something about Kirkland spending an awful lot of time in the casino and much less getting high with Yao’s dealers. Perhaps this is more than a rookie cop wandering into the wrong neighborhood. "I will look into it, in exchange for all the help you have given me. Be careful, Officer Jones. There are few on the force who share your integrity."

"Thanks," Alfred replies. He checks his watch. Francis is due soon. He'd better get off this call. "I'll be at the school tomorrow, alright? Listen, you need to be careful too. There's a lot of people out there who are looking for your head."

"That has been true for a long time, yet my head is still here,” Ivan laughs. Then, quickly, he adds, “Oh, and Officer Jones, there is one more thing you must remember: There is nothing at the end of the Rainbow but fool's gold."

Alfred's blood goes cold. "Are you saying..." he murmurs, his eyes shooting toward the door. "Are you saying that something's going on at the Rainbow? Someone at the Rainbow might've..." His mind goes to Francis. It's inconceivable to him that Francis shouldn't be trusted. But he did know about Matthew, and it was awfully convenient that he _happened_ to be in the right place to rescue him.

"I only know that no one is as innocent as they claim,” Ivan replies. “Enjoy your date. I will tell Raivis to expect you tomorrow." With that, Ivan hangs up.

The click resonates in Alfred’s ear, leaving him with a chill. He has no reason to doubt Francis. Well, he _had_ no reason. He eyes the door, waiting for his date to arrive and trying to regain his confidence. What's left of it, anyway.


	58. The Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The identity of Feliks' roommate is finally revealed, and thanks to some questionable loyalties within the police force the news spreads quickly. As enemies and allies race each other to the hospital, Feliks performs one final act of heroism to save his anonymous friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, our 4-year (holy shit whaT) adventure continues to head toward its final confrontations as we reveal more of the truth about the original murder. Remember when Vosh said he never believe anyone was dead until he saw the body? Yeah. He's got reasons for that. 
> 
> Thank you once again to those who comment and leave kudos, and for sticking with us for so long!
> 
> A note on names:  
> Romeo Seneca (the Vargas' cousin) = Malta

For once in his career, Vosh is having a good morning. His team for the Beilschmidt/Karpusi murders is sitting together in front of his desk, all on time and, apparently, sober – a miracle in itself, on Arthur’s part. He’d been planning to fire the man a few weeks ago when all of a sudden he started cleaning up and coming in with actual information. It makes him wary, but Arthur has always been an addict with his ups and downs.

Alfred and Matthew are also sitting together again, reconciled after whatever argument they’d had. Matthew is sitting stiffly, still recovering from his injuries, but Vosh is glad to see he’s suffered no lasting damage. That leak is the one dark spot in his day, given that he _still_ doesn’t know who ruined Matthew’s cover. His eyes stray to Arthur, who’s been working in and around the casino, but he doubts the man would get too close to La Citta’s bosses. They probably still have a price on Arthur’s head for the race track incident, even all these years later. Now is not the time to be questioning Arthur’s loyalties, anyway. He needs to make himself believe in this team given that he’s about to reveal something far beyond their usual clearance.

“Alright,” he begins, “let’s make sure we’re all caught up. Kirkland, report.”

“Everyone’s walking on egg shells,” says Arthur. “Most of my contacts are too scared to talk. Won’t say why, but it doesn’t take a genius to put it together. The casino crowd’s gone quiet and so have the Braginskis, but that might not be a good sign. Calm before the storm, and all that.”

“Jones, have you got anything to add?”

Alfred shakes his head and tries not to look guilty. “No. I, um, I might have something soon though, about Natalia’s death. There’s a rumor starting to make the rounds at the bar that Braginski has some kind of evidence. Just a rumor though, nothing I can confirm or anything.”

Vosh nods and turns to the last of his officers. “Williams?”

“Um, well, my contact was able to identify some of the guys who jumped me. He said they definitely answer to Mr. Beilschmidt, but they’re not too picky about who they rob on the side. Did you get the names I sent you this morning?”

“I did, thank you,” says Vosh. “We should get a warrant for their properties by the end of the day – and that’s if we don’t manage to pick them up beforehand. You said Francis Bonnefoy witnessed the attack? If you can get him to come in and you both ID them, that much should be cut and dry.”

Matthew gives Alfred a side-long glance, enjoying the color that rises to his friend’s ears. “I think we can convince him, don’t you, Alfred?”

Alfred glares in reply, Arthur laughs, and Vosh decides he doesn’t need to know anything more about it. “Good. I'm afraid we haven't found our leak yet. I have my suspicions, but there's too many holes to plug them all. I'm sorry, Williams. The good news is that it appears you are the only one who was compromised. That leaves us with two of you active in the field. I want you keeping your noses clean and eyes open at all times. We can't afford to lose any more ground.”

“Of course, chief,” says Arthur. He straightens in his seat, eyes keen on Vosh as he takes stock of the office for any tidbits he could pass on to Ludwig. He feels a bit bad about what happened to Matthew. He didn’t think they’d go after him like that; at the least, he figured Mattie would be more difficult to find. As for Alfred – well, he’s got some kind of contact with the Braginskis, and Arthur knows better than to get caught in the middle of _that_.

“Whoever it was, they’re definitely close to La Citta. Artie, you need to be careful, even around the Rainbow,” says Matthew.

“Right,” Arthur agrees faintly, shifting in his seat. He turns back to the chief and clears his throat. “So, then. What's going on?”

Vosh eyes them all critically one more time. Part of him wants to send them away and never tell a soul. This, however, is something he can't do alone. Not now that his last-ditch miracle is coming back to life. “I have not been entirely honest with you,” he says. “I do not apologize for that, and I do not expect you to question me about what you did not need to know. Now, however, we have a witness to our triple homicide.”

“Wait, wait - _What_?” says Alfred. His eyes widen and he sits forward in his chair. He glances at Mattie and Artie to see if they knew anything about this, and finds both looking just as shocked as he is. “A _witness_? Are you serious? Someone's actually talking?!”

“I wouldn't call it talking just yet. But I am confident it could become talking, given the time to heal,” Vosh explains.

Matthew frowns, a nasty feeling settling into his gut. An injured witness...what if it's Holly? What if someone saw them together and really went after him this time? “Who?” he asks, and the question is instantly echoed by Arthur.

“Who is it? Do they know who the murderer was?” Arthur is leaning toward the desk, already counting the money this could put in his pocket. This could be his ticket into Bielschmidt's inner circle.

“Heracles Karpusi,” says Vosh. His announcement is met with a brief, stunned silence, followed by all three talking at once.

“The bouncer? He's alive?”

“ _Dude!_ He’s the missing link!

“But he’s dead! They shot him in the head.”

“It was all over the news…”

“Everyone knows the Bielschmidts have enemies, but-”

“Francis said he went to the funeral-“

“-couldn’t possibly have survived.”

“-except that shifty dude in the mask-“

“-closed casket, but given what happened I never-”

“-could figure out why he wound up dead that night. Or, not dead?”

Vosh puts up a hand to silence them. “Yes. Karpusi is alive, though I would not say he's well. He truly was shot in the head and abdomen. However, his dying in surgery was a story we fed to the media to keep anyone from looking to finish the job. He made it through that night, but the doctor was never sure he would wake up. He's been in a coma, hidden in the cancer ward as a patient who had a brain tumor removed rather than a bullet. They’ve kept me informed of all changes and I’ve been to see him from time to time. Yesterday he began to regain consciousness. A goddamned miracle, if you ask me. I was sure he'd die a vegetable.”

Arthur gets up, pacing to the other end of the room as he goes over the possibilities. If Ludwig had something to do with the slaying of his brother and grandfather, this would be an amazing piece of the puzzle to knock out of play. If not, it's an amazing piece to add to the bunch.

Alfred slumps back in his chair, still trying to get over his shock. This is like winning the lottery, or lightning striking. “So Karpusi might be able to tell us something?”

“To be honest, there's no telling,” Vosh sighs. “He isn’t talking so much as muttering, and I’m not sure he’s really _aware_ yet. The best I can tell, he keeps repeating "red-blue." Does that mean anything to you three?”

“Red-blue?” Alfred frowns, thinking on it, then shoots his head up as he comes up with an answer. “Police lights!”

Mattie takes a little longer, trying to take it all in. He thinks of what he's learned, of all the connections between Karpusi and others. Red-blue...the casino lights? No, those are mostly yellow. It could be lights from the police cars or the ambulance, as Alfred said, if those were the last things he remembered. On the other hand, it might not have anything to do with the case – or he might not be saying red-blue at all. Red-blue, sounds like...Mattie’s eyes widen. “Kiku. His lover, what if he's trying to say his lover's name?”

“That makes sense,” says Alfred. His thoughts fly to Francis, his heart taking an extra leap against his ribs. Every time he sees Francis it gets harder to leave him. The man is charm and sensuality personified, but he’s also smart and sad and funny. Alfred can’t imagine what he’d do if anything happened to him or to Matthew, and if he was the one shot in the head, his lover and his best friend would certainly be the ones his brain clung to. He bites his lip. Kiku is Francis’ best friend. This is a huge, dangerous secret, but if anyone deserves to know, it’s probably him. He tries once again not to look too guilty and turns to Arthur instead, who is staring off into space with a little smile on his lips. “Any ideas, bro?”

“Hmm?” Arthur brings himself out of a daydream where he’s sharing drinks with Bielschmidt and the Vargas brothers. He shrugs. “Oh, I don't know. Red, blue... They're colors. Primary colors. Got no idea.”

“I suppose it’s all possible,” says Vosh. “We'll have to hope he has more to say - and that he’s capable of saying it. I haven't gotten a full report from the doctor yet. With our luck, he's lost his memory and really _is_ naming primary colors. If he starts saying yellow, I'll give you a free pass, Kirkland.”

That's a joke, but none of them laugh. Vosh doesn't blame them. He's no good at jokes, and it’s clear they’re still processing the news of the witness’s survival. “Now then!” he snaps, and all three whip their attention back to him. “I expect you three to be professional about this. _No one_ else knows, not even the man’s mother. We need to keep it that way for Karpusi’s sake – and for yours, if you want to keep your jobs.”

“Yes sir!” The three officers salute. Only Matthew has any intention of keeping that promise.

XXX

It’s a slow night at La Citta Fortunata. It’s been slow almost every night since Ivan Braginski lost his shit and murdered half their crew. Antonio drags his feet from the coffee table, one careful eye on the Vargas brothers as they sit close together on the couch, eyes hard and refusing to show their grief. They've lost some friends over the past few weeks - some they weren't prepared to lose. Toni doesn’t think it’s healthy for them to be pent up like this; they’ll go on a rampage of their own soon enough, especially Feliciano if they can’t get in touch with a dealer for more of his meds. He shares a glance with another tan, dark-haired Italian named Romeo Seneca. He’s one of the Vargas’ cousins; usually a cheerful, confident man who likes to believe he’s as tough as his cousins. He’s been called up to the lounge to give his input about the family business and to help Toni keep an eye on Feliciano and Lovino. Ludwig’s been no help, after all; he’s busy with his remaining dogs and that fucking cop. As if Arthur Kirkland is ever going to be useful.

Lovino glances up at Toni, secretly worried about him as well. For a while he wasn't sure he could trust Toni anymore. But what he did with the Braginski incident was something else. He took Natalia out without thought or question the moment she was a threat, and he’s the one who took care of things while Ludwig mourned and Lovino looked after his brother. Really, it’s Lovino who should be protecting Toni now. If Ivan ever finds out who killed Natalia, Toni’s a dead man.

Ludwig breaks the strange silence of the room suddenly, rising to his feet with a click of his boots. "Kirkland’s got news. Since there’s no other business, I’m letting him in.”

“Fun times,” Romeo grins and relaxes a little, apparently glad that Ludwig did not say _Ivan Braginski_. Lovino and Toni roll their eyes.

Arthur slips into the private lounge alongside Sadik. He leaves the guard to smoke by the door and saunters toward the middle of the room, confident that his information is enough to let him feel at ease here. “Cripes, finally. Thought you boys would keep me waiting an age.”

“Well look who it is,” Lovino scoffs. “Good ol’ Officer Kirkland - the cop who managed to sell out our horses. And yet here you are.” It was a stupid move to bring him on board, in Lovi’s opinion, no matter how good Ludwig’s blackmail supposedly is. An enemy can become a friend, but a traitor is always a traitor. Kirkland’s use is limited, in his opinion, even if Ludwig did manage to get him to sober up. “We should've kept you waiting at the bottom of a river long ago.”

Feliciano, on the other hand, perks up a little. He swats his brother's leg and smiles at their guest. “Be nice, Lovi. Ludwig says he's our friend now. I'm sure he's _very_ sorry about all that. A big mistake, si? We had no idea what they were doing to our poor, pretty ponies. Have some wine, Arthur?”

“Thank you, Feliciano. I will,” says Arthur, slipping into a sharp, patronizing tone. He takes the wine as his eyes sweep over the room, making sure he has all the attention he deserves. Everyone is looking at him like they're waiting for him to do a card trick or something. Well, he's got one better. He's about to pull a rabbit out of his hat. “I have some news. Something you'll _all_ be interested to hear. It concerns Hans and Gilbert Bielschmidt's murders.”

The room remains silent, waiting. Smoke curls up towards the ceiling, the cigarette glowing beneath Sadik's hood. He leans against the door and takes another drag. If he had a penny for everyone who came in here with 'information' about those murders, he'd be able to take Kiku and the whole fucking Karpusi family on a nice trip somewhere very, very far away. Like Turkey. That's a dream, though. He exhales and the smoke rises again.

“Well?” says Toni.

Arthur smirks. “There's a witness.”

Ludwig rounds on Arthur with narrowed eyes. “ _What_?”

“Don't get your panties in a knot there, Ludwig,” says Lovino. “We've had plenty of witnesses, and they've all seen 'something.' Not one of them has been useful yet.”

Arthur glares at Lovino before turning his attention back to Ludwig, the only one who appears to recognize the importance of what he’s got to say. “It’s Karpusi. Heracles Karpusi. He's alive, although seriously injured. He's been in a coma for quite some time, but now he appears to be coming out of it.”

Toni drops his cigarette to the ashtray on the table, and by the door Sadik chokes like he’s sucking on ashes. Ludwig stares at Arthur and even Lovino seems speechless for once. It’s cousin Romeo who manages to respond first, his voice practically giddy with excitement and disbelief. “He's _alive_? Are you serious? That’s like, some soap opera plot twist shit!”

Feliciano frowns. “Artie. Tell the truth, right now. Liars smile the widest, you know; from here to here.” He gestures sharply, cutting lines with his fingers from the sides of his mouth all the way to his ears.

Arthur throws his hands up in defense. “S'true! Chief told us just this morning. They’ve got him in the cancer ward next to some dying bloke. But he's coming around! Been mumbling in his sleep, saying 'red-blue' or some shit.”

 _Karpusi... survived_? Ludwig can barely wrap his mind around it, yet there’s no reason for Arthur to lie. The cop knows what would happen to him. Ludwig can't help but smile, and smile wide at that. He swipes a glass of wine from the table, drinking it in celebration. “Tell me everything. I want to know where he is, who he's in that room with. I want to know who else knows.”

“I- I don't know _everything_. We were just told this morning!” Arthur starts paging through his mental files, trying to remember everything Vosh said. “He’s in a room with some cancer patient, with his face all bandaged up. There’s a false chart hanging at the end of his bed and everything. Says 'tumor removed' instead of 'bullet'.”

There’s a crash as Feliciano’s wine glass hits the floor and shatters. He’s shaking, and Lovino is instantly holding onto his arms, trying to keep him calm. “Fratello?”

“No, no no no! It can't be. It just can't, not after we've waited so long. He's been there the whole time, and I never thought…” Feli mutters to himself. He breaks free of Lovino and reaches for his phone, then races through his pictures. And then it's right there, all the evidence he needs on the screen in his hand. It’s a selfie taken with Feliks in the hospital, and in the background he can clearly make out Feliks’ roommate: a comatose person, their face covered in bandages from the bridge of their nose up. “It's Feliks,” he whispers.

“Feliks...?” Ludwig doesn't understand at first, but then he remembers. The roommate. Feliciano had mentioned something about a _roommate_. “Toni! Find him. Find out _everything_ he's said.”

“On it, boss.” He pushes to his feet, grabbing his gun from the table.

Feliciano is breathing hard, feeling panic build up in his lungs. Feliks is dying, Hera is alive, and if anyone else finds out that won't last long. “TONI!” he shrieks before the man can make it out the door. “Someone else will know. If Artie told us, others will know. You had _better_ get there first.”

Toni nods, then heads out. Sadik watches him go, nerves crawling through his blood like insects. Lucky for him, escorting Arthur back out to the main floor is an easy excuse. Then, instead of going back up to watch the door, he slips out the back. He’s got some business to take care of.

XXX

It’s one of those nights where Feliks simply cannot sleep. Maybe it’s something in the air, or maybe it’s because he's afraid that when he closes his eyes he'll never open them again. It’s not really death that scares him, but all the things that he must leave behind. He's wasting what remains of his life sleeping or too doped up on pain medication to think. At least when he does manage to sleep his dreams are beautiful. He dreams of Toris and horses, of wide poppy fields, of the warm days and starry nights they might have shared together. Maybe it's just the lack of Toris that is keeping him awake tonight. It's hard to relax without Toris at his side.

Feliks sighs and rolls over. The room is dark, but he can see a little by the small shaft of light coming from beneath the door to the hall. There are curtains around his bed and around his roommate's, but there's a crack he can see through. From this angle he can even make out the other's head. It's kind of creepy in the darkness; a bandaged, unknown face that moans and twitches at odd times, and the twitches have been happening more often since the man first stirred. While Feliks weakens his roommate gets stronger. Today the chief was back again, asking questions that Feliks couldn't quite hear. His roommate was apparently aware that _someone_ was talking to him, because he responded by turning vaguely toward the voice and mumbling. But it was always the same word: rebleh, redrum, whatever it is. The voice is clogged, like he can’t get the words out right. Feliks wonders if he'll die without knowing who this person is or where he came from. He'd like to have a real conversation with him, just once.

His mind is finally starting to settle when he hears the door creak. He almost groans. The night nurse always comes to check in, especially on his roommate. But Tino’s the one on duty tonight, so he's sure he’ll be left alone if he keeps his eyes shut.

With his eyes closed he listens to the footsteps, but there’s something wrong about them. They’re too heavy for Tino or any of the nurses he knows, and they stop right beside his roommate’s bed. Feliks opens his eyes, curious in spite of his wish to be left alone. Squinting through the dim light he can see a tall, hooded figure. That's not a nurse; they're not even wearing scrubs. He frowns, wondering what's going on. Is he dreaming? Hallucinating?

The intruder lays a gloved hand on his roommate’s shoulder, moving slowly, as though they’re making sure the sleeping figure won't wake. Feliks’ roommate doesn’t stir, but Feliks himself watches in increasing horror as the intruder takes hold of one of the pillows and slips it out, cradling the bandaged head in one hand before slowly lowering it to the bed. He moves quickly then, stuffing the pillow over the roommate’s face and holding it down over his mouth and nose.

Feliks opens his mouth to shout, but nothing comes out. If he shouts the intruder might turn on him, kill him, and what could he do to stop him? Nothing. He's weak, he's dying, and right across the room someone is trying to murder his roommate. That's not fair. His roommate has just struggled back from a coma, from a living death, and this jerk comes in here and tries to end things? Feliks doesn't care if he's hallucinating. He's not going to let this happen.

He tries to gather himself, to make his voice work so that he can shout. What does it matter if this guy turns around and kills him? He's already dying anyway. But his voice refuses to go louder than a whisper. Feliks jams his hand against the call button. It's late and there aren't many nurses; there's no TIME for them to come running! His roommate needs help now. He can see the man's hands twitch, proof of life, of a struggle, of the fighting spirit Feliks was so sure he himself had lost. Somehow that fills him with the strength to sit up, throw back the covers, and stumble from his bed.

“H-hey...” His voice is still too quiet, and when his bare feet hit the tiles his legs buckle. Feliks catches the IV pole and forces himself to stand, dragging wires behind him. “Hey!” His voice is stronger, louder, and he is moving forward. Moving, then ripping both curtains back and glaring at the intruder. The man turns, but his face is hidden by a white mask and the shadows under his hood. It's a shame; Feliks would have loved to see his expression.

“Leave my friend alone,” Feliks says. Then he launches himself at the man, tackling him away from the bed. Surprise is on his side and the man falls to the floor hard. He appears dazed for a moment, cursing as he struggles to push Feliks off of him and stand again. Feliks grabs his ankle and tries to pull him back, but the man kicks him off. It doesn’t matter; there are footsteps running down the hall and in seconds the nurse will be here.

The intruder seems to have come to the same conclusion. He curses again and kicks Feliks in the stomach, then races out the door. He encounters Tino in the doorway and shoves him out of the way, hard, before racing off down the hall.

“Hey, what - Catch that man!” Tino shouts, ignoring his throbbing shoulder as he races into the room. He kneels at Feliks’ side the moment he spots him crumpled to the floor, IV tipped over. “Code 3! Someone come in here and help me!” he yells into the hall, checking Feliks’ vitals manually. “Feliks, what were you- who was…?!”

Feliks tries to bat him away, but his sudden burst of strength is gone. “Roomie...check...there was a man, masked, tried to kill him...m'okay, it's my roomie, he was going to kill him!” Right beyond Tino's head he can see his roommate's hand moving, reaching out like he's trying to find someone. With a smile, Feliks reaches back and manages to catch his fingers. “Gotcha, buddy. Someday...someday you'll tell me your name.”

The machines monitoring the patient’s vitals are going wild now, reflecting the man’s panic. He grips Feliks’ hand and replies as he always does, “Reblleh, r-r-redbluh!”

“My God,” Tino mutters. Another nurse comes in and together they lift Feliks. His hand slips away from the other patients’. They place him back onto his own bed and right his IV stand. “Check him over - check _everything_!” Tino commands, moving to check the other patient himself. There's a pillow over his face. “And someone call the police!” he shouts.

Feliks’ world is turning into strange colors and patterns. He shuts his eyes and ignores the hands that check him over and hook him back up to his meds and monitors. He doesn't care; he can't really feel anything. It would be fine, if only he had Toris by his side. “Tori...” he calls, as his mind whirls away. In his dreams he meets his lover and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Despite the implication of that ending and the summary, Feliks is not dead. Yet.


	59. Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiku learns the truth about Heracles from Francis and the pair rush to the hospital. Reunited at last, Kiku figures out the muttered testimony of the only true witness to the Beilschmidt murders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos!

Francis is absolutely bursting with excitement. Alfred dropped him off a block from the Rainbow and he practically skipped his way home. He can’t wait to talk to Kiku. He will have to be careful, of course, but this is one secret he can’t keep to himself. He thought about calling Kiku last night, but decided this was something better accomplished in person. Plus, he'd spent the night (and early this morning) showing Alfred just how much he valued the information: he cooked for him. He should be exhausted, but instead he's wired. When he enters the kitchen and encounters Elizabeta, he spins her around and kisses her full on the mouth. “Where's Kiku?”

Liza laughs, twirling into his arms and staying there, happy to see Francis so... what's the word? Bright. That's it. He's shining with energy. “Good morning to you too, Francis. You're looking good.”

“As are you, madame!” Francis hugs her tight and then pulls away, grinning. “But where is Kiku? I _must_ talk to him.”

“With a client. Should be wrapping up any minute now, though.” Smiling wide, she flips over her grilled tomato/cheese sandwich and slices it in half with her spatula. “Want?”

Francis shakes his head. “I have eaten. That's a late client. Or is it an early one?”

Liza scoffs , turning the sandwich over onto her paper plate. “Baby, it's lunch hour. I think your sense of time's a little skewed.” She reaches up, tugging his hair affectionately. “Don't worry. It's Juan. You know Kiku always has a good time with him.”

Francis nods. Juan is a sweet man with a very sweet spot for Kiku. He brings flowers every time he has an appointment, and likes things gentle. Good. Kiku will be in a mood to listen. “Ah, that is true. I have been...” He pales suddenly, remembering the previous night. _Before_ he found out about Hera, before he even left for his date. “Mon Dieu. Toni! Liza, is Toni here?”

“Hmm?” Liza looks confused, then remembers; she scheduled an appointment for him for the morning hours, but she never saw him. “No, he hasn't shown.” Her frown deepens. “You okay, Fran?”

“Yes, yes,” Francis replies, brushing her concern aside, as well as his own. “I promised him the day. I lost track of time, that's all.” Francis rubs his wrist idly. This is so, so important. Surely Toni can wait a little longer?  He'll just have to be patient. He brightens his smile. “How was _your_ night, my dear?”

Liza sighs, leaning against the counter and nibbling her sandwich. Roderick and she cuddled all night, but barely got to second base. They stayed up talking, watching Audrey Hepburn movies. “Have I grown... unattractive?”

“What? Of course not, cheri, you are as beautiful as you have always been. Why? Did a customer say something?” Francis narrows his eyes. “Who? We will see to it they are made _most_ unwelcome.”

“Hmm...” Liza smirks, leaning up into Francis’ face and giving him a coy little smile. “You wouldn't be saying that just to please me, would you?”

Francis kisses her quickly. “I do all things to please madame,” he says. “For madame is as beautiful as she is intelligent. And she is holding a frying pan.”

“Good answer,” says Liza. Sighing softly, she sets the pan on the stove and prepares herself to deliver an interesting piece of news. “Roderick spent all night in my apartment and didn't so much as touch my pussy.”

That _should_ surprise Francis. Yet somehow, it doesn't make him so much as bat an eyelash. “Roderick has always had more interest in fingering a piano than a person.”

Liza pouts. “But it's _me_. We fuck every time he comes over, at least once, if only to...” She almost laughs. “Oh, but that doesn't matter. I think he's in love.”

Francis snorts. “Roderick? In love? He-”

In that moment, Juan ambles down the steps with Kiku on his arm. He's smiling as if Kiku is the sun, moon and stars. Kiku is smiling as if Juan is a very nice man he's been chatting with for the last few minutes.

Francis’ thoughts of Roderick are forgotten; unimportant, for the moment. He follows Kiku into the lobby and watches their little goodbye kiss, practically bouncing once again. As soon as Juan is out the door he races for Kiku and spins him around, just as he had with Liza. When he sets him down on his feet again, he smiles wide. “Kiku, do you believe in miracles?”

Kiku’s head swims and he finds himself gasping, leaning into Francis. Francis looks like the sun just rose for the first time. His own heart has become too hard to melt, but he’s glad to see Francis looking so happy. He smiles, slightly cool. “Some. Why?”

Francis hesitates, glancing toward the kitchen. He trusts Liza, but this is not truly his secret to share. Alfred made him swear not to tell – with just one exception. “Come with me. Your room or mine?”

“I…” Kiku frowns, then takes Francis’ arm and leads him up the stairs. “I must clean, anyway.” This is peculiar. He'd almost say Francis was back on the drugs, but he doesn't look high. Rather, he looks excited. As though he's found some light in his world, after all this time. He tries not to feel jealous as he shuts the door behind him, taking off his robe to put on a pair of sweatpants. “Go on. Is this about your pretty angels? Or angel, rather – it’s only the one now, right?”

“Matthew is still one of the angels who saved my life, even if he is not my lover. And Alfred has nothing to do with it. Well, not nothing. But it is _your_ angel I would speak of.”

Kiku wants to laugh. He's stopped believing in angels. The only one he has is Heracles, watching him, probably laughing at him on the other side. God, he misses that laugh. Just like that his mood falls through the floor. He has to grip his dresser to keep from crumbling, hold his breath to keep from crying.

Francis catches Kiku, drawing him back to the bed and holding him. “Yes, _that_ angel. But do not be so sad, sweetling. Be joyous! You should be dancing.” He leans close, tucking his chin over Kiku’s shoulder so that he can whisper into his ear. “ _Heracles is alive_.”

Kiku freezes. Then, at once, his blood is boiling and he throws himself away from Francis, ready to punch him in the eye if he dares to say another word. “How- How _dare you_? How _dare_ you play such stupid tricks, after all we've been through? How _could_ you?!”

Francis stays where he is, willing to let Kiku rant so long as he does not leave. His face is serious, solemn as he ever gets. “I understand your anger, but I would never lie to you about this. I know what you feel, or as close as anyone can get. Gilbert died that night, and his grandfather as well. But I am telling you the truth: Heracles survived.”

Something drains from Kiku. A ghost. A part of his life. He crumbles, his knees hitting the floor. He can't even process this. He whispers, “No... No, he was pronounced dead at the scene. You saw the papers, you saw…”

“Not at the scene. At the hospital. I _did_ see, and I very much wish I had not. I saw Gilbert's brains all across the ground, when everyone said he never had any.” Francis chokes on his words, feeling his own sorrow climb up his throat. He clamps down on it, trying to remember the joy he's been floating on. “I saw a crumpled old man, eyes wide and unseeing. And I saw Hera dying. The ambulance came and took him away. When word came the next day that they hadn't saved him, I never questioned it. No one did. It was a nightmare, no one had a thought to spare for a body, that his closed coffin might be filled with sand. Oh, Kiku...” Francis drops down on the floor next to him and puts a hand on his back. “Please, believe me! No one knew; my angel only just told me! Alfred…he’s...he just knows. I swear it’s true.”

Kiku remains still, frozen by the veracity in Francis’ tone. He feels like he's floating out of his body. “Where is he?” he rasps, his body limp, brain lost to this hope. He can't believe he's even considering it, but his mind can see, hear, feel nothing else.

“Mercy Hospital.” Francis laughs then, a bit of his manic joy returning. “You really won't believe me now, but I've seen him. I held his hand. You remember I told you, how Feliks was so sad his roommate never had visitors? His comatose roommate. With bandages to cover his face.”

“You're not serious,” says Kiku, staring at Francis with wide eyes. Heracles... right there next to Feliks, this whole time? His heart cracks, wrenches, loses all feeling and starts to beat uncontrollably in his chest. “Hera—” He chokes, his head falling to his hands. He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Francis rubs his back. “Alfred told me he is alive, with a false identity and a false 'brain tumor,’ next to a cancer patient with AIDS. Who else could it be? I never even...I didn't recognize him. I'm so sorry, I never saw his face. He _is_ hurt, Kiku, you should know that too. All this time he's been in a coma, and they were not sure he _would_ survive. But he's waking up. I bet all he needs is a kiss.”

“I need to see him,” Kiku whispers. There’s no room for any other thought in his mind. He pushes himself off the floor and repeats, more firmly, “I need to see him. I'll know it when I do. Take me there.”

Francis hesitates. They’ll be sure to attract unwanted attention if Kiku starts kissing unknown soldiers. “We must be careful. We will visit _Feliks_. Feliks, and say nothing about anyone else.”

Kiku nods, agreeing with whatever needs to be done. He turns to his wardrobe and pulls out the first thing he can find, throwing it on over his sweatpants. Maybe he'll be able to believe it, when he sees… whoever this man is. He can’t let himself really believe it’s Hera just yet. He would never recover if he had to lose him twice.

Francis gets to his feet as well. He trusts Alfred, but he’d like some proof of Heracles’ survival as well. It will be good to see Feliks, too. Every moment with his friend is to be treasured now. A part of him can’t help wondering if Feliks' life is the price paid for Hera's return. “We should go quickly, and keep this to ourselves. I’m not sure-”

A commotion outside interrupts Francis, and for a brief moment he panics. He’d forgotten about Antonio again, after he swore to be here. Maybe Toni has really been waiting, singing songs outside his window like he used to, but that doesn’t sound like singing. That sounds more like police sirens. He races for the balcony, Kiku right behind him.

Toni is indeed outside of La Citta, but he, too, appears to be watching the scene unfold. Kiku squints, then gasps when he realizes it’s Sadik who is being taken away by the police – and by no one less than the chief. Chief Zwingli looks furious; he slams Sadik against the hood of his car to stop the man’s struggling. “Sadik Adnan, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of...”

Here the chief hesitates, glancing at the crowd gathered outside of La Citta and the couples leaning off the Rainbow’s balconies. “…a key witness. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say-”

“Son of a bitch!” Sadik shouts. “You have the wrong fucking guy! AGAIN. You already cleared me, I haven’t killed anyone! This is...this is abuse!”

Kiku sways on his feet and grips the rail, almost unable to watch. _A key witness._ It’s true then. Hera survived, but if Sadik is being arrested… “This can't be right,” he mutters softly. “He's not the one who did it. I was _so sure_...”

Suddenly Sadik is looking at the Rainbow, eyes wandering over the balconies until he meets Kiku’s horrified gaze. “KIKU!” he bellows, ignoring the cops that tug on him. “I swear I didn't do it! They're wrong, it wasn't me! I swear on my mother's grave!”

Kiku stands there staring, unable to believe his eyes but equally unable to deny how it looks. Sadik always hated Hera. Sadik worked for plenty of other gangs besides La Citta, too, with plenty of cause to want the Beilschmidts dead. And with Hera alive, he might've talked. That must be it. Hera told them Sadik was the one. Kiku falls back to his little bistro chair, feeling like he might pass out.

Francis puts a steadying hand on Kiku’s shoulder, but his eyes remain on the scene below. The chief shoves Sadik into the police car, and beyond them Toni stands with Lovino. Francis doubts he will visit now; this new revelation is going to keep everyone at La Citta very busy. Poor Toni looks so worn, though. Francis wants to kiss him. Beyond it all, he still wants to take Toni into his arms and make all of that stress melt away. Make things _right_ between them again. They deserve that chance, don't they?

When Toni looks up their eyes lock, and Francis holds his gaze. He wants Toni to remember that he has no reason to be jealous; Francis will always love him, just as he loves Alfred and Gilbert and Kiku and all the others who have brought light into his life. They nod to one another, a promise to make up for lost time. Then Lovi growls something and Toni turns away. Francis returns his attention to Kiku, more determined than ever to help him reach his long-lost lover.

XXX

When Francis and Kiku arrive at the hospital, they find the ward in chaos. There are police everywhere, employees and visitors being questioned in every corner. There’s a uniformed officer in front of Feliks’ door (now Heracles’ door, too). There are probably more officers inside, plus the usual nurses and doctors who regard every stranger with hyper-vigilance. There’s no way they're getting through that door right now. Until they can think of something else, Francis guides a shell-shocked Kiku to the nearby waiting room where they can sit quietly and keep an eye on things.

 _What happened here?_ Francis wonders. His memory flickers to Sadik's sudden arrest, and the text he got from Alfred on the way over.

_Angel: Did you tell anyone besides Kiku?_

_Francis: No._

_Angel: Someone else did._

Kiku is paper-white and staring, unsure of how to handle the sight of the police swarming around his lover’s room – unsure if he can believe that it really _is_ his lover’s. He goes where Francis leads him, allowing the world to rush by him like the ever-moving ocean. He does not have the strength to make it stop.

Just before they reach the waiting room Francis notices Mona, one of Feliks’ nurses, standing off to the side at the nurses’ station. He tugs on Kiku’s arm, slowing directing their steps towards her. “Hello Mona.”

“Hmm?” She looks up. “Oh, hello Francis. Are you trying to see Feliks?”

“Yes,” Francis replies, arm still linked through Kiku’s. “There’re police blocking the door. Is everything alright? Well- I guess that’s a foolish question.”

“It’s not be the best time today. It’s…” Mona notices that a cop is watching. She also notices Kiku’s far-away stare, and recalls what she knows of him from Feliks’ stories. She decides to trust them. “I’m glad you’re here. Feliks could use friends today, and so could Toris. I was about to go check on them, you can come with me.”

She leads them back to the door where the officer stares them down. “They can see Feliks, right?” Mona says, already reaching past them to open the door. “They're really close to him. They come here all the time; you can ask anyone.” She ignores the cop’s uncertain look and leads them into the room before he can challenge them.

Toris is sitting at Feliks’ bedside. They won't let him slide into bed with him right now; Feliks is too weak. All he can do is hold his hand and protect him from the assassin that tried to kill Heracles Karpusi last night. He’s still in shock about that revelation; the chief broke down and told him the truth after he’d demanded answers, muttering that the whole town probably knew by now anyway. He glances over his shoulder toward the other bed, and straightens when Mona enters the room. The nurse isn’t alone, and his hand tightens around Feliks' until he recognizes Francis and…ah. Kiku. They all know why he's here now.

“Good God,” Francis mutters. The room has never seemed so sterile, devoid of the usual cheer Feliks brought to it. Even the flowers by his bed are wilting; he should have thought to bring in some new ones. At least it's quiet. For the moment the police and their questions remain outside. Francis squeezes Kiku's hand and leaves him by the first bed, giving him as much privacy as he can. He goes to stand by Toris instead, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Did they tell you?” Toris asks.

“About our mysterious friend?” Francis replies.

Toris shakes his head, never turning his gaze away from his lover. “No. About what Feliks did. He heard someone come in and saw them attack the other- saw them attack Heracles. And even though he’s so sick, even though he can barely stand on his own anymore, he threw himself across the room and scared the man away.”

“What?” says Francis, eyes widening in wonder.

“He’s a hero. He’s the reason Heracles is still alive, the reason they might learn who committed those murders. But Feliks is so much worse now. I know it’s terrible, but I almost wish he hadn’t done it.” Toris’ eyes brim with tears and he hangs his head. “I'm so stupid. I should've been here. Should've stayed. They made me go home and rest, but if I'd stayed-”

Francis kneels beside him and squeezes his shoulder. “Oh no, my dear, don’t think like that. This was _not_ your fault. You couldn’t have known what would happen, even if you had been here. They weren’t looking for Feliks, and he...Toris, he saved a man's life. That's more than incredible.”

It is incredible; or it would be, if you didn't know Feliks. Toris finds himself smiling a little, and he brushes his thumb over his lover's hand. “That's my baby.”

Across the room, Kiku remains frozen beside the curtain. If it turns out they’re all wrong and this _isn’t_ Hera after all, he’ll be crushed. He isn’t sure if he can survive losing him twice. But if it is…if it is, then he needs to be here for his poor lover, to make up for all the things he’s realized since he lost him. Kiku steps around the curtain. His heart stops and he stares, eyes wide and brimming with tears. The man beneath the sheets and bandages is nearly anonymous, but there, laying peacefully on top of the sheets, are a set of hands. He knows those hands; they’re big and calloused, hands that were so gentle with him, as though they didn't feel worthy of touching him. Most of the nails are painted now: one hand pink and one hand red, just like Francis said. Kiku chokes. They're Hera's hands. He knows them, though they are still. He steps closer, then stops, afraid to touch, afraid to feel cool flesh and no pulse.

The man beneath the bandages, however, is definitely alive, and he is beginning to regain a sense of what that means. When the chief arrived early this morning, not long after the attempt on his life, he'd been able to hear him. He could move a little in response and even speak. His words remain slow and they come out wrong, and he can’t quite remember why they’re so important. All he knows is that he saw it, and now he _must_ tell someone. Even now his lips move, drawn toward the feeling of warmth at his side. Someone is there. He has to tell them.

“R-r-re...” he mutters, the words lost on his thick tongue.

Kiku gasps and moves closer, his hand falling to touch the one twitching on his lover's chest. It's warm. Real. _Alive._ He winds his fingers slowly through Hera’s, determined never to let go again. “Hera,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with tears. “Heracles.”

Heracles blinks, and sees nothing. Sometimes he wonders if he's gone blind, but if he has then it is not complete. He can see shadows, and if there are shadows then there must be light. Someone is touching him, saying his name. He tries to reach back. He _has to tell them_.

“R-reh... _red_.” Hera says it slowly, proud to have gotten that far. “Red. Redbl-blu..ble...” _Damnit_ , he almost had it. “Red. Bl..buull.” His fingers tighten, and he tries again. “Red. Buuullll.”

Kiku’s eyes widen further. He leans over that bandaged face, his hand lightly stroking the half-covered cheek. “Red bull,” he whispers, trying to get a reaction _. 'Say it again, open your eyes...'_ “It's ‘red bull.’ Isn't it, Hera? Red bull?”

“Red. Bull,” Heracles repeats, and it comes easier this time. He has to make them understand. He can't show them what he saw, and talking is too difficult. He can't think of the right words to explain it, and the words he does think of don’t come out right. So he repeats the ones he remembers, fingers grasping at the warmth against his hand. “Red bull. The red bull. The red bull...”

“The red bull,” Kiku says louder. “It's me, Hera. It's Kiku. Kiku. Do you know me? Do you know who I am?” he asks, his hand tightening around those long, painted fingers.

“Rebull... _red_ bull…” It's important. But that name and that voice are important too. Heracles searches his memory. It works like an old computer, struggling to make the connections in fits and starts. Something is there, some shadow left behind. Where there is a shadow there must be light. He reaches for it, because he knows, even if he doesn't know what he knows yet. “Red bull,” is what he says, even when he means to say the name. He needs to try it, to feel it on his tongue. He'll know then. “Re...k-kee...”

Kiku’s heart plummets. He squeezes Hera’s hand anyway and promises, “Red bull. I'll tell them. I will.” Then he lets his head fall to Hera’s chest, listening to that steady heartbeat, the sound of life.

Heracles is confused by the weight against him, even though it feels just right. On some instinct, he moves his other hand and rests it on top of the thing on his chest. It's soft. Hair, hair that feels like silk. “Kee..keek…” Soft as silk. Black as midnight. He remembers it was black, and he'd run it through his fingers while his lover lay against his chest. His lover. His...

“Ke...Kiku!” Behind the bandages, Hera’s face moves. It's not moving the way it should and the connections in his brain are still faulty, but now he knows something new. This is Kiku. And that's important.

Kiku jolts up, squeezing both of his lover's hands. “He said my name,” he whispers, then starts shouting. “Francis! Francis, he's awake! He remembers me!”

There is a face above Hera’s own. He knows there is; even though he can't see it he can describe every detail. Well, perhaps not verbally. He's got three good words to work with now, important words. And Kiku is here. Nothing else is important, nothing but the bull. “K-keeku, ththe bl..the _bull_. The red bull.”

“I'll tell them,” Kiku promises, squeezing those hands, trying to get him to return to earth, return to him. “Please, please, I promise I'll tell them, just come back to me.”

Francis switches beds, standing beside Kiku and peering down at the bandaged face. The jaw is familiar, the hands more so. They're gripping Kiku's, reaching, searching for more of him as Kiku reaches back. The sight of them reunited at last is enough to make him cry. They were all sure Heracles was gone forever, and Kiku looked so lost. Now he’s got some color, like the world has righted itself again. Francis smiles and thanks God for that. The shadows have shifted - but a glance across the room reminds him they are not gone.

Feliks shifts, slowly waking. Or, half-waking. Everything has gone fuzzy around the edges. It's like looking through fogged glass, only he doesn't even have to open his eyes. He feels floaty, sore, and tired, tired, _tired_. But he can smell Toris; even through the haze he knows he's there. Toris was there the last time he woke, too. But there are more people now, and some kind of commotion. He tenses. “Tori...what?”

Toris’ attention shifts from the sweet reunion to his own beloved. He smiles, reaching out to touch Feliks’ face. “Your friend is waking up. It's a good thing.”

“Oh.” Feliks smiles too, leaning into the touch. “Good. He keeps doing that and falling back to sleep. Not that I blame him. They give y'stuff and everything's all sleepy.” He yawns.

“Go back to sleep, hero,” Toris replies. He slides his hand down his cheek, his chin, his neck. Feliks is beautiful. Even now. Even when the world seems to want to swallow him up and these machines are the only things holding him here.

“M'not a hero. I'm a princess,” Feliks pouts. “Don't wanna sleep though. It's like, way interesting now, and I've been sleeping through it.”

Toris laughs, tapping that pout with his finger. “Yeah. There's probably some stuff I should fill you in on... But once the excitement dies down, okay?”

“M'kay.” Feliks snuggles down beneath the covers, and despite all his efforts and the noise across the room, his eyes go heavy and close again. But one thing nags at him before he can fall asleep. He opens one eye. “Toris?”

“Hmm?”

“My roomie. Do they know his name?”

“Yes,” Toris replies, gently stroking Feliks’ face. “His name is Heracles Karpusi, and you saved his life.”


	60. Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feliks dies. In the wake of their grief, Tino and Berwald are finally able to embrace their love for one another - and on the other side of the coin, Ivan convinces Toris to seek revenge.

It is very late, far past visiting hours. The police and hospital staff forced Kiku to go home, despite his vehement protests and Tino's backing. They didn't want anyone in here with Heracles Karpusi at all, but somehow Toris managed to convince them he was no threat. Maybe he simply looked pitiful enough, or maybe Feliks did, wide-eyed and reaching for him whenever he started to go. Feliks’ hands were freezing, and no matter how Toris held them or kissed them they didn't get any warmer.

He crawled into bed with Feliks as soon as the cops were outside and there was no one to tell him differently. They were reading earlier; they finished "The Captain's Boy." Even laughed. Then Feliks started dozing, muttering "love you" and some things Toris didn't really understand. That was okay. He wrapped himself around his boyfriend and laid gentle kisses on his skin, then started dozing himself.

He wakes sudden, like an alarm has gone off, but the only noises in the room are the faint whir of machines and Feliks’ soft breath at his side. The room is dark, and the soft glow of the clock on the bedside table reads 3:23 AM. He doesn’t know why he is awake, or why he can’t bring himself to close his eyes again. Perhaps he felt Feliks move. “Baby?” he calls.

Feliks does not respond, and Toris feels his stomach clench. He shakes Feliks a little, trying to get him to wake. “ _Baby?_ Feliks?”

Feliks does not hear him. He is sound asleep, lost deep in his dreams. He's not afraid or in pain, but even in this dream world he is tired. Tired, and cold, and breathless. Everything is molasses slow, even his heart. He walks anyway, letting his feet find a path that he feels but cannot see.

Something touches his shoulder and he stops suddenly, looking back. Behind him there is light and life, memories of his family and friends. There is darkness there, too; the shadows of days so black he thought the sun would never come again. Weaved through nearly all of this is Toris: his scent, his voice, even the feel of his arms wrapped around Feliks’ body. Ahead the way is dark and lonely, save for a soft glow that spreads across the horizon.

For a moment Feliks stands still, watching the road behind him pulse and flicker, sifting through his memories. There is a part of him that wants to run back to them, to gather it all up in his hands and watch his life fold in on itself. But deep down he knows that he must let them go. They are only memories, and if he turns back now he’s not sure he’ll be able to find the path again. He can’t go back. He must move forward and find whatever is beyond the glowing horizon. He walks on, every step heavy, heart full of dread as much as hope.

Toris watches as Feliks breathes slower and slower, then quick again, and then, quite suddenly, stops.

Feliks’ death is not accompanied by any theatrical flat line or rush of nurses. There is only Toris, trembling like a leaf as he alone witnesses the end of everything. Feliks passes exactly as he wished – peacefully, with no further interventions. For Toris, suddenly alone on the little hospital bed, that is little comfort.

“ _Baby_?” he sobs the word, knowing it won't reach him. Feliks is on his way somewhere else now, and Toris can only leave him with one final prayer: “Take him somewhere safe and bright with poppies everywhere and horses that run wild. He deserves that place. Please, take him there.”

XXX

Tino is still near numb, his body shaking as he stands outside the door to the clinic. He’s tired and cold, even though the weather is mild. He’s felt that way all day, ever since he went in to work this morning and learned that Feliks had died during the night. He’s spent the day in a fog, going through the motions and drained of any further effort. He hasn’t responded to Berwald’s texts or calls, nor can he remember driving to the clinic instead of his apartment. Apparently some part of his exhausted brain decided that he needed to come here. So here Tino stands, his body shaking and unsure if he can move at all. Finally, he takes the doorknob in hand and twists it, pushing into the clinic. He'd been one breath away from turning around and never coming back, but life is too short for regrets. He has something to say, and he’s going to say it even if this is the last time he sees Berwald.

Berwald straightens when he hears the back door open and tries to pretend he hasn't been sitting by it all day, praying for Tino to come home and imagining all the things that might be keeping him away: work, a friend, a car accident, Mattias.... He shakes himself loose from that line of thought and stands. “'Lo?”

“Bernie?” Tino calls, his voice cracking a little. He doesn't know if he's crying, just that he can't quite swallow and his voice is so rough it hurts to speak.

The site of Tino nearly breaks Berwald’s heart. Tino’s eyes are red and his lip is quivering, and he has his arms crossed over his chest like he’s trying to keep his heart from falling out. It makes Bernie want to hold him tight, even if they have been awkward since the night they kissed. “What's wrong?” he asks.

Tino breathes in, then tries to speak. It comes out as more of a croak. “I lost one of my best friends today. And I _hate_ that I had to lose him. But if there's one thing I learned from him, it's that no one should leave this world with regrets. So I... I need to tell you something. It's important.”

“Oh, Tino...” Berwald begins, and then doesn’t quite know how to finish. All the 'I'm sorrys' in the world can't make grief any less painful. That is one thing he's experienced first-hand, and Tino's wound is still fresh. He wants to help him through it, to ease the pain until it's only a scar that aches sometimes when the air shifts and the memories return. “What do you need?”

Tino tries to calm his heart, to stop the lump in the back of his throat from getting any bigger. He's so sad, so angry that Feliks had to die, but he needs to do something, needs to ensure that his life won't be filled with regret because he was afraid of loss. Feliks was always so brave, even in the last week of his life. Tino will not let grief and fear stand between him and Bernie anymore. If he loses Bernie now, at least he will know the truth.

“I have been in love with you from the moment I met you. You're what keeps me awake at night, and you're all I think about during the day. You're the reason I left Matt in the first place,” Tino says. He takes a breath and turns away from Berwald’s stunned expression, ready to walk away. “I don't want you to say anything. I just needed you to know.”

“Tino!” Berwald calls, reaching out but afraid to touch him. He wrinkles his brow, trying to think of a way to make Tino wait at least until he can come up with the appropriate response. It takes Berwald a long time to say important things, because he chooses every word with care. For the moment, he settles for, “Don't go.”

Tino pauses in the doorway and turns back. “Don't say anything. Okay?” His control breaks and the tears return, his breath coming in shaky and out shakier. He can't stop crying; hasn't stopped all day, really. But he can't let Bernie agree to something just to make him feel better. “I don't want you to say anything you're going to regret tomorrow.”

“Don't go,” Berwald repeats, since it worked the first time. He moves closer slowly and takes Tino’s hand, cradling it gently. He won't force Tino to stay, but he has to try to convince him anyway. It's been many years since Berwald lost his family, and he's been thinking: his husband and his son would not want to see him mourn them alone forever. He loved them, but maybe it's time to finally let them go.

“Please,” Berwald says. “We don't have to talk. I’m no good at talking anyway. Or if y'want to go, that’s fine. Just, please - can I kiss you? I was...I didn't do it right last time.”

Tino’s breath leaves him. He stares at Bernie, completely blindsided by the words and the sentiment behind them. He wipes his eyes, trying not to sniff or do anything equally pathetic, and then nods. A second later he's in the man's arms, being kissed with such need he doesn't know how he's still on his feet. He gasps, letting Bernie control this for a moment before throwing himself into it, taking his mouth and refusing to let him go.

They melt together, just like the first time. Except this time, Berwald doesn’t let his grief overtake them; Tino is Tino, and no one else. For the moment, at least, Berwald’s ghosts are at peace. 

Tino grips those strong shoulders, pulling himself in as they take their time to get used to this. His stomach is flip-flopping. By the time they pull apart, Tino feels like he can breathe freely for the first time in an age. His reason, his love, his home, is right here in his arms. He looks up at Bernie's face, still unsure, afraid that this is only Berwald's way of solving his heartache.

Berwald stares back, and for a moment he smiles. However, he knows they cannot ignore what happened to lead to this moment. They are both tired and grieving, and that will latch onto their love and poison it if they don’t confront it now. “It's not okay,” he says. Tino's face falls, and he realizes those were the wrong words. “Not the kissing. The kissing is good. Really good. You’re good too. I meant, what happened to us is not okay; to your friend, to my family, to you – none of it. But I think we could get better.”

Tino smiles, because he knows that together they _will_ be okay, despite everything that has happened in their pasts. “You've already made me a lot better. You know that, right?”

Berwald nods. “Already told you, you saved my life. Save it every day. I think...” Berwald stops himself. This isn't the time for thinking; this is the time for doing, with no more regrets. “I love you too.” He kisses Tino again.

Tino grins into the kiss like a lunatic. “Let me be with you,” he whispers against Bernie’s mouth. He tugs at Bernie’s shirt, searching for skin.

Bernie stiffens and takes Tino’s hands in his, pushing through the sudden rush of memory. Moving too quickly will not help them anymore than not moving at all. “Slow. Please. I’m still getting used to this.”

Tino steps back and reaches up to touch his face. He's got that look again - frightened, sad. He brushes his thumb over Berwald’s cheek, then moves back into the circle of his arms. “I know. It’s alright. We’ll go slow.”

Bernie smiles and pets Tino’s hair. It's soft, softer than he imagined, and Tino’s warmth is pleasant against his chest. It's nice to just hold someone again. He takes a deep breath. “Would you like to go upstairs? There’re no patients tonight. We could just...cuddle. If y'want.”

“Are you sure it's okay?” Tino asks. Bernie has not let _anyone_ go upstairs since the accident. The invitation feels like an honor, but it also causes a tight knot of fear in his chest.

“Yes,” says Berwald. He feels like the house agrees. Tino practically lives here anyway. He squeezes Tino’s hand, and Tino gives him that sunshine smile. He smiles back and leads the way upstairs. The hallway is dark and all of the doors are closed, but he knows the way. Maybe tomorrow he'll turn on the hall light and let Tino see more. For now, he leads him straight to the master bedroom. He pauses at the door, half-expecting to be struck by lightning. But when he turns the handle and leads Tino inside there is no strike of lightning or sudden hellfire, nor even a scream of anger from his mind. Just his bedroom: an unmade bed, a laundry basket full of clothes, shelves of books, and the occasional stray paper or cup.

The family pictures are there, too, of course. Tino knew they would be. He doesn't dare touch a thing or say a word, only moving where Bernie leads him. Something inside him is tugging free, a subconscious fear that he would never get past the walls that Bernie kept locked up so tight. He breathes out slowly, more relieved than he ever expected to be just to stand at the edge of the bed.

Berwald tries to hastily straighten out the sheets, which are cleaner than they look. They're fairly new, too. They were never on the bed when he had his family, so there's no history or smell but his own. The bed itself is much older, and so is most of the other furniture. They layout has changed over the years, however, to reflect his needs as a busy man living on his own. Thus the large pile of laundry. He blushes a little and continues the attempt to tidy up. He hadn't really planned for Tino to see this, at least not tonight. “Sorry about the mess,” he mumbles.

“It doesn't matter,” says Tino. He grabs Bernie’s hand and pulls him back for a kiss, half-wondering if it’s ok to kiss him here. There’s something about the energy in this room that is different from downstairs.

When they separate again the silence gets deeper. It’s awkward, but not bad awkward. More like Berwald’s usual interactions. He almost laughs. “So.”

“So,” Tino replies. He chuckles and wraps his arms around Berwald’s neck. “I didn't bring any pajamas,” he adds sheepishly, pressing his nose against Bernie's. It's a little too soon to let Bernie see the physical scars of his own past. The doctor will recognize the scars for what they are, and Tino has decided they have had enough grief for one night. He kisses Bernie again, softer this time. “Do you have something for me to sleep in?”

“Oh, sure. Just...let me find something.” Berwald goes to his drawers, searching through them for something suitable: nothing unsightly, or too old, or embarrassing (requirements that are more difficult than they sound). He finally pulls out a plain blue t-shirt and a striped pair of shorts with a drawstring. He looks from the clothes to Tino, holding them up. “Gonna be big. Sorry.”

Tino takes the clothes and steps just behind the closet door. He changes fast, afraid Berwald will change his mind. When he steps back into the room, Bernie's in his own pajamas, which look good on him. Very good. Tino, on the other hand, is swimming in Berwald’s clothes, the shorts falling past his knees. He laughs and takes Bernie’s hand. “I want to cuddle.”

“Me too,” says Berwald, a bit of mirth dancing in his eyes as he looks Tino over. He may end up naked by morning if he moves too much in his sleep. The t-shirt is already falling off Tino’s shoulder. Bernie tugs it back into place, then freezes in horror. There are dark bruises on Tino's arm.

His mind runs through the possibilities. Could Tino have fallen? Been pushed? Did someone grab him or shove him? Someone like... _Mattias_. It had to be. That must have been what upset Tino so much the other day, the thing he swore he couldn’t talk about. Mattias was always trying to steal Tino back, even though he already kept Lukas like some kind of punching bag. He hopes there’s a special place in hell for abusers like Mattias, right next to intoxicated drivers and those who prey on children. But there’s nothing Berwald can do about it now, not without upsetting Tino. He forces himself to concentrate on Tino and what is happening now. He shakes his head, then kisses Tino’s forehead to get rid of that worried wrinkle.

Tino curls up against Bernie’s broad chest and they settle on the bed together, feeling safe and happy despite their heavy hearts. Berwald’s family looks down at them from the pictures on the walls, and when he closes his eyes Tino can still see Feliks’ empty hospital bed. He looks at Bernie instead. “Kiss me again.”

Berwald obliges.

XXX

Ivan has been easy on Toris since Feliks’ death, allowing him to spend time alone in his room without interruption. Despite popular opinion, he is not without mercy, at least not for those who serve him well. He can empathize with Toris’ need to grieve; his sister has not been dead long, after all, and he still feels that sting. However, the world does not stop for any mortal, and it is time to consider the future. Toris has nothing to lose now, nor anything that leaves him beholden to Ivan. He's been paid well enough to start a new life somewhere far away and forget any of this happened. Ivan doubts that he will; Toris is much too engrossed in the memory of his lover. But he might just stay in his room forever and wither away to nothing. That won't do at all. Toris is useful, and Ivan has plans. Plans that are already in motion, plans that Toris will refuse to be involved in unless he is given a very, very good reason.

The door to Toris’ room is open a crack, just enough for Ivan to see Toris sitting on his bed, surrounded by boxes and staring down at his lap. He’d asked for the boxes to organize Feliks’ things two days ago. Even from here, Ivan can tell that most of them are still empty.

Ivan knocks at the door. “Toris? May I come in?”

Toris jolts, nearly dropping the silk camisole in his hands. He knows he’s been slacking, staying in his room of the manor and barely eating, let alone watching the boys. He's been trying to pack Feliks’ things. He hung them up when he first moved in as an attempt to make it feel more like home, and to give himself hope. If Feliks’ clothes were in the closet, then one day Feliks would come home. The illusion is broken now, yet he can’t put the clothes away. He keeps getting distracted, pulling something off a hanger and remembering the last time it was worn, and then it never gets placed in the box.

Now his judgment has arrived. He's about to be fired, if he's lucky. Then again, a bullet to the brain might be more merciful. “Yes, come in,” he says.

Ivan doesn't really have the face for sympathy, so as he enters he goes for something neutral. He moves in front of Toris, attempting to force the man to look at him instead of that flimsy fabric in his hands. Toris does not look up. “You are feeling...better?” he asks.

“Yes.” Toris lies because _yes_ is a safe, easy answer. _Yes_ needs no further explanation. He protectively presses the camisole to his chest and allows his eyes to flicker upward. “Are you?”

“I will be,” Ivan replies, smiling just a little. “You know, there is one thing that heals faster than time: revenge. Also vodka, but revenge is much healthier.”

Toris tightens his grip on the camisole. There is nothing for him to avenge. Feliks died... Well, he died... He died because he made a choice. It was a choice Toris came to terms with long ago – at least, he thought he did. He doesn’t know quite how to feel right now. Essentially, Feliks died for a mistake. Whatever it was, it had to be a mistake. “You'll have your revenge,” he says. “Last I heard, you've been collecting quite a lot of blood for Natalia's death.”

“ _Information_ ,” says Ivan, narrowing his eyes. “And anyway, I have what I need now, thanks to Yao and Officer Jones. I am going to visit La Citta, and you are going to join me.”

“I—” Toris turns away, breathing in the ghost that remains on Feliks’ clothes. If Ivan's planning revenge, it's going to be a showcase dipped in crimson. He wants no part of that. “Wouldn't you rather have me watch the boys?”

“You will want to be there,” says Ivan, watching him carefully. “I want to help you avenge your boyfriend. His death is very sad, of course, but it is not the tragedy you believe. I have ways of learning things, and I know the truth. No doubt he was too ashamed to tell you what really happened, or too frightened.”

Toris doesn’t quite look back at him, but Ivan can tell that he has the man’s attention. It’s written in the tension of his spine. He takes a seat next to Toris on the bed and leans in closer. “It was Gilbert Beilschmidt who gave your boyfriend HIV. He forced Feliks to have sex with him by threatening to kill you. And he knew, Toris. Gilbert knew he was sick. He gave it to Feliks on purpose, to make him pay for the race track.”

“The race track?” Toris asks, though he already knows it’s true. Feliks had betrayed the Beilschmidts to save the horses he loved so much. Most would not have survived such heroism, but Feliciano spared Feliks and Ludwig agreed to turn a death sentence into a debt. They were trying to work it out, they had a plan to pay it back. He thought they had. Toris’ fingers tighten like a vice around the silk, and it’s suddenly impossible to feel anything but the boiling of his blood. “Gilbert Bielschmidt had HIV? And he, he just _gave_ it to him? On purpose?”

“Yes.” Ivan answers simply, letting Toris work out the rest.

Toris can see it. That's the worst part. He can see the bastard himself, hurting Feliks and making him swear to take that secret to his grave. The camisole falls to the floor and Toris’ fingers hang in mid-air, quaking. There's an ache in his heart; an awful, bleeding wound infected with loss and grief - and now he knows who shot him there.

It's difficult for Ivan not to smile as he watches the rigid line of Toris’ back and the blood crawling under his skin, staining the back of his neck and the tips of his ears scarlet. He continues quietly, trying to help Toris sort through the rest and realize what he's offering. “Gilbert Beilschmidt is dead. But do you really think he was the only one involved? He was quite close with his brother. Ludwig must have known his brother was sick and what he was doing to Feliks, yet he did not stop him. Perhaps he encouraged it. And the Vargases: Feliciano was Feliks' friend, yes? I wonder if he knew, too. None of them were happy to lose the horses, and everyone knew it was Feliks who gave them up...”

“Shut up,” says Toris. He paces to the other side of the room, trying to keep up with his thoughts. Gilbert had HIV. Ludwig knew, he had to know. Feliciano, Lovino... Did they know? Did they know and sit there, pretty little boys pretending to be friends?

The corner of Ivan’s mouth pulls up into a sneer that shows his teeth. If Toris is angry enough to talk back to him, then there's still some fight left in him. Ivan picks up the camisole, running his fingers over the smooth silk. He stands and gently places it in Toris’ hands. “I am leaving in two hours. The Spaniard is mine.”


	61. Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tension between the two most powerful alliances in the city finally breaks when Ivan instigates a deadly gunfight at La Citta Fortunata. It's Braginski/Wang v. Beilschmidt/Vargas - and someone brought a knife to the gunfight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally reached the big showdown! It's thrilling and a little sad at the same time. We wrote the first draft of this scene about 4 years ago, and a huge portion of the plot has been building up to this moment. It took us a long time to get here, so thank you for sticking with us.
> 
> And it's not over yet! We still have a murder to solve and a few curve balls to throw. Let us know what you think! We love hearing from you.
> 
> WARNING: In case it isn't obvious, this chapter contains graphic violence and character death.

La Citta's VIP room is nearly silent, devoid of guests, gambling, and dogs. Ludwig's got Berlitz and Aster up in his room. They're not happy to be cooped up away from the masters they were trained to protect, but Ludwig doesn't have the heart to put them in danger after losing Blackie. He doesn’t know who to trust anymore, and they’ve already lost too many allies. It’s the reason they have Feliciano’s cousin Romeo helping them with the business and Sadik back in his usual place by the door instead of rotting in jail. Romeo doesn’t have the brains to betray them, and Ludwig has had eyes on Sadik since the police first cleared him all those months ago, right after Gilbert was killed.

Whether out of guilt or infatuation, Sadik has gone to see Helena Karpusi after every break in the case. According to Ludwig’s spies, they drink, they talk, and then Sadik leaves before the remaining Karpusi children know he’s been there. He was on his way there the night Kirkland told them Heracles Karpusi was still alive – and never made it. The last thing Ludwig needs is some distraught mother interfering with things on behalf of her half-dead son. Sadik is sporting a few extra bruises from the trouble, but Ludwig was kind enough to pay bail and confirm his whereabouts for the police, in exchange for Sadik’s silence and continued loyalty. They need all the help they can get, after all. Ivan the Terrible is coming, coming for them, and they need to be ready.

They _were_ ready, but then Feliks died and Feliciano's already tenuous hold on sanity cracked a little more. Ludwig glances over at the couch where Feliciano is sitting next to his brother, playing with their intertwined fingers and muttering to himself. He laughed at the funeral. Toris didn't notice, but Ivan smiled at them over the open grave. Ludwig had considered shooting the man and getting two funerals done with in one day, but he didn’t want to upset Feliciano any further. He needs his passionate, ruthless little lover back. Romeo simply doesn’t have Feliciano’s imagination.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…” Feliciano pauses, brushing his thumb over the stump of Lovino’s missing middle finger. His forehead wrinkles, blissful ignorance and suppressed memories warring briefly within his mind. Ignorance wins and he continues to the ring finger ( _eight_ ) and the pinky ( _nine_ ). He looks back at his own hands to start the cycle again. “One, two, three-”

“Will you stop that?” Lovino growls, grabbing Feliciano’s hands and slamming them between his own. “There's ten. Ten of yours and nine of mine. Now stop it, before I lose my mind too.”

“Shut up, both of you!” Ludwig snaps. He regrets it immediately when Feliciano gives him a confused, hurt look and Lovino glares. Ludwig’s too tense, nerves coiled with energy and ready to lash out at anyone around him – and with only 4 other people in the room, there aren’t many options. What they all need is some breathing room. He probably would have killed Lovino, or vice-versa, days ago if it wasn’t for Feli, and he's fairly certain Antonio has considered something similar. Their safe room in the lounge is feeling more like a prison cell by the minute. Time to get some air. He stands and heads for the door. “I’m going for a beer.”

Toni’s arm shoots out to block the way. “Like hell you are. I’ll call the bar, tell them to send up some drinks. Maybe some entertainment, too, to let off some steam. Elizabeta was at the bar earlier looking for Roderick. Bet she’d be happy to send a few of the boys our way.”

“I don’t want any of your _whores_ in here,” Ludwig snarls. He makes a move toward Toni, fists curled. “And I can get my own beer. This is _my_ business, my building, my bar.”

“Yeah, and you know everybody in it, right?” Toni replies. He refuses to back out of Ludwig’s space, itching for this fight. “You wanna go out there and find out who's looking to gun you down, or add a little something extra to that beer? Sit. Down. We stay together.”

“Looking to gun _me_ down?” Ludwig says with a nasty smile. “I don’t think it’s me they’re looking for.”

“ _Shhhhhh_.”

Toni and Ludwig both look over to the couch, and Feliciano smiles at them. “Children should be seen and not heard.”

A voice that is not his own echoes the words inside his head, but Ludwig takes a seat beside him and Feliciano comes back to himself a little. He frees himself from Lovino and takes Ludwig's hand instead, tangling their fingers and counting each one. “Ludwig,” he asks between numbers, “do you think Feliks and Gilbert are friends again now? They were friends before, and then they both got so angry about the poor ponies. Do you think they're friends, wherever they went?”

Ludwig freezes. He is of the opinion that Feliciano does not need to know everything about Gilbert - or Gilbert and Feliks. That was Gil's business, and now that they are both gone he hopes to let the situation die. No one else was infected to his knowledge - no harm, no foul. It’s over. “I don't know, Feli,” he says carefully. “That fight was between them. They will need to sort it out if they cross paths in heaven.”

“What a load of crap,” says Lovino. He leans back and puts his feet up on the table, affecting a look of casual machismo and annoying Ludwig with his muddied shoes in the process. “Why are we just sitting here? You'd think we were afraid of Braginski. We should go after him, get rid of him once and for all and leave the business to his less-violent sister and a couple easily distracted brats. We should've taken care of this a long time ago.”

Ludwig frowns. They _should_ have taken care of it - and could have, a few months ago. But now they don't have a man to spare, and the Russian is not alone. “You’re forgetting that Yao Wang is with him now. I’d rather force Ivan to come here if he wants a fight. We’ve set a few traps for him, and there are ways out of here, places we can defend.” He waves a hand toward the casino floor. “Braginski does not know this place like us. We have better chances here.”

“Our best chance is _shooting him in the fucking face_ ,” says Lovino. “We should have done it at the funeral. There was even an open grave!”

“And get ourselves carted away? Oh, excuse me. Get _myself_ carted away? You'd prefer that, wouldn't you, Lovino?” Ludwig says coolly. 

The argument is interrupted simultaneously by a knock at the door and the ringing of the room’s landline, which only connects to other lines in the casino. Everyone reaches for a weapon, staring between the phone and the door. Both sounds repeat. At Ludwig’s nod, Lovino picks up the phone and Sadik readies himself just behind the door. There’s a young woman pictured on the security camera above the door. Sadik is pretty sure she’s one of the pit bosses for the casino, but these days they can’t be too careful.

“Who is it?” he calls.

“Parola d'ordine,” the woman replies, stumbling over the Italian password. “It’s Joanna – he’s here, he’s in the casino! Please, let me in!”

“It’s true,” Lovi adds, phone still against his ear. “Security just told me. And given that some of his people wiped out our guard at the front of the house, I don’t think he’s looking for a chat. Let her in.” He flicks the television on and turns his attention back to the phone. “Patch us into the main feed, Gianni. I want to see the bastard.”

“Shit.” Toni grabs his second gun and stuffs the smaller one into his belt. “Stay here,” he commands, brushing past Sadik and the near-hysterical woman as he makes his way to the door.

“No!” Ludwig barks, grabbing Toni by the arm. “It's you he's after, remember? What we need are men, not martyrs.” The screen comes flickering to life, showing the main floor of the casino. A stillness has fallen over the place – hands frozen on slot levers, card players clutching their last hand, and though the roulette wheel is spinning no one is watching the dice. They’re all watching Braginski, Wang, and their band of merry killers face off against the floor security guards. Damn them, pulling civilians into this. He was hoping Ivan would avoid the main floor and come for them directly.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Ludwig,” Lovino says. Given the opportunity he’d be happy to take Ivan out, but he’s got their chief security officer in his ear and a security camera full of murderers. He’s not stupid. “We wait him out, let our security team handle it.”

“Tell Giovanni to evacuate the civilians,” Ludwig orders. “I don’t want a hostage situation or a floor full of terrified customers.”

“But Mr. Beilschmidt, it’s too late for that!” Joanna shouts. She leans on Sadik’s arm and points to the screen. “He’s got Madam Elizabeta from the Rainbow. He grabbed her on the way in! I saw it right before Mr. Seneca told me to run and take a message to you.”

“ _Liza_?” says Toni. The Rainbow Hotel is like the Good Doctor’s Clinic. It’s a neutral zone, part of an unspoken agreement between the city’s gangs. Up to this point Ivan has attacked plenty of La Citta’s associates, but Liza should have no part in it. The message is clear: Ivan will do anything, hurt anyone, to get his way. Toni shoves his way toward the door. He's going to spread that fucking Russian's brains all over the floor.

“Toni, get back here you idiot!” yells Lovino. He manages to catch Toni’s arm, but the man struggles against his grip. It’s not the first time Lovi has wished for the return of his missing finger. Ludwig appears on Toni’s other side, however, and they manage to wrestle him back to the couch.

In the midst of their scuffle, Feliciano suddenly stands and points at the security feed. “Oh look, Luddy! It’s Romeo on TV.”

Ludwig drops Toni’s arm and very slowly turns around. Romeo is indeed on the screen, facing off against Ivan alone. “Joanna,” he says, his voice icy calm, “what exactly did Mr. Seneca tell you?”

“He said that you should stay here and not worry. He said he’d talk to Mr. Braginski and take care of it.”

Ludwig, Lovino, and Antonio share a horrified look. On the screen, Romeo takes one step too close and is immediately grabbed, disarmed, and smacked over the head with Ivan’s lead pipe.

“That damned fool!” Ludwig bellows. He throws Toni backwards and runs out to the main floor. He slows as he reaches the corner of the hall where his security team is waiting, and curses again when he realizes that the others have followed him. He should have locked them in the relative safety of the lounge – or at the very least, he should have done more to protect Feliciano. “Go back,” he hisses.

Feliciano smiles benignly and twirls a knife between his fingers. “No. I want to play too.”

“ _Feli-”_

“Well? Where are my hosts? You didn’t _really_ expect me to talk to this little nobody, did you?” Ivan calls.

Ludwig presses Feliciano back against the wall and puts a finger to his lips, demanding silence from all of them. He can see the security footage from here, as well as a few horrified patrons ducking beneath the slot machines. He also knows that there is a particularly sturdy card table within reach, right on the other side of the wall. It should give them some cover. He makes one last desperate gesture to get Feliciano and Lovino to turn back. Feli continues to smile, and Lovino simply glares.

“Luuuud-wig! Or is it Lovino? Feliciano? I know you are here somewhere. I know you can see me; I’m looking right at your cameras. And look, I even brought you a gift on my way in!” Ivan drags Elizabeta forward by her neck, holding her just in front of him so that the camera catches the way he curls her hair around his gun. “Such a beautiful woman, and so very clever. But cleverness won’t save you now, madam, and you had better hope someone answers me soon. You, and EVERYONE ELSE IN HERE.”

“There’s no need for that,” Ludwig calls. He straightens and makes his way out into the open, slow but without hesitation.

“There you are!” says Ivan. He turns to face Ludwig, bringing Liza with him. “Hello Ludwig! You have been hiding, I see, but you shouldn’t worry so much! I am here so we can talk like men, without so many -” he glances at the dazed Romeo, held firmly by Yao. “Mediators.”

“Then let them go. Let them all go,” Ludwig replies, gesturing to the casino floor at large. “They are not a part of this.”

Ivan shrugs. “We always seem to misplace our witnesses. I thought it might be a good idea to have some, in case our negotiations are difficult. I do not know why you are _making_ it difficult.”

Ludwig’s eyes remain steady and calm, though his body is sharp with tension. He is Ivan’s equal, and he will meet him as such. But with Elizabeta, Romeo, and a room full of civilians, Ivan has already proven he’s willing to cheat. He begins to map exit strategies in his mind for Feli and Lovino. There's no way he's getting out of this alive. “I'll say it again. None of them are a part of this. Let them go.”

“I will make a trade instead,” Ivan offers. He tightens his grip on Liza and presses his gun against her skull. “Give me the one who murdered my sister. Then I will be satisfied.”

Toni’s heart falls through his chest. He doesn’t want anyone hurt on his behalf, especially not Liza. He takes a step into the main room, almost involuntarily lowering his gun. But then Lovino kicks him hard in the shin and he jolts back.

It’s too late, however. Ivan’s eyes land on Toni like a hawk spotting its prey, and he grins. “Ah. I thought there might be more hiding. I had hoped Miss Elizabeta would lure you out of your rat hole a little faster, but it appears you hardly even care for your own cousin. Will you turn yourself in then, Antonio?”

“Rot in hell, you fucking bastard!” Lovino shouts. He shoves Toni behind him, angling for the card table that might offer them some cover.

Ludwig firms his grip on his gun. He's prepared to fire. He's _determined_ to fire, to take Ivan and Yao and everyone with them out before anyone else gets hurt. “If you hurt her, or anyone else here, I will not let you live.”

“I do not wish to hurt her. I very much enjoy her hotel,” Ivan replies. He releases Liza suddenly, gun still aimed at her head. For a moment, he lets them wonder if he's going to shoot her. Then he simply shoves her forward. “Here. You did right by my boy, and Kat seems very fond of you. I would hate to tell them I got blood on your dress. Now get out!”

Sadik manages to catch Liza before she falls to the floor. By the time anyone thinks to give him the order to clear the room, he’s smuggling Liza out the side door he and Heracles used to guard, tugging on any civilian he can reach and physically shoving them out the door after her. There’s no way in hell he’s staying to see how this turns out; he’s been arrested twice already for their bullshit and he’s not about to die for it.

Ivan clucks his tongue. “What a noble act you all put on, pretending you are the righteous ones. I cannot let this go unanswered, you know. I must protect my family. What would you do, Ludwig, if you knew who killed your brother? Even the most harmless of men can be driven to unspeakable things by grief.” His glance slides to Toris, standing quiet and stern at his side, a better puppet then he ever could have hoped for.

Feliciano takes a cautious step forward. The presence of Toris grounds him a little more in the present reality. Feliks was his best friend, and he owes it to him to see that Toris is not harmed. “Toris, you should go home now. Go home, or go visit Tino. He's probably very sad too, you know. I don't like to see you sad.”

“Shut up,” Toris replies. His mind is stuck on how Feliks looked when he died. Pale and fragile, his body lifeless with a disease he could no longer fight – and here are the people responsible, all but one still alive and healthy.

Ivan laughs. “Oh Ludwig, your house is full of bad blood. Bad blood and whores.”

“That blood is on your hands, Ivan,” Ludwig replies.

“Some,” Ivan admits. He nods to Yao, who drops Romeo Seneca on his knees in front of them. There’s blood dripping down the man’s temple, and he appears to be only half-aware of what is going on.

“Let him go, damn it! He’s not even supposed to be here!” Toni shouts. He jerks forward and tries to shove Ludwig out of the way, but Lovino pulls him backward with a strength that belies his size.

Ludwig spares no more than a glance for Romeo, but that alone is enough. He’d forgotten that Romeo is even younger than Feliciano, and with that bewildered expression he barely looks older than a teenager. They never should have brought him into this. He should have remained a distant cousin, using the Vargas name for cheap drinks and nothing more. Ludwig forces himself to focus on Ivan. “If you want to take this up with anyone, you take it up with me. Your sister killed my dog.”

“A dog is not a person. Besides, you did not kill my sister. I have no quarrel with you - though there are others who might.” Ivan gestures to Toris and Yao, one on either side of him. Then his gaze locks onto Toni. “I have been very patient so far, but this is my final offer. Give me the man who murdered my sister, or I will need to take something from you in turn. If Natalia cannot have justice, she _will_ have vengeance.”

“You will let him go, or I will take out every last one of you myself,” says Ludwig. He cocks his gun. One way or another, this is going to end now. “I am not merciful to those who come after my family and my employees. You of all people should understand that.”

Ivan smiles. “I do. So you should understand this.”

Ivan’s gunshot echoes through the casino, and before Romeo’s body even hits the floor, all hell breaks loose.

Ludwig fires his own gun the minute Romeo’s body drops, but the panic of the remaining civilians forces him to shift his aim. He hits the man behind Ivan instead, then has to dodge to the right behind a couple slot machines – which leaves Feliciano room to fly past him, aiming straight for Ivan himself. “Feli, NO!”

Feliciano hears little beyond the rush of blood in his ears and a half-remembered voice telling him that he can stop this, he can fix everyone if he gives them a smile. He grins as he launches himself at Ivan with his knife raised, forcing the bigger man to abandon his gun in order to bring up his pipe with both hands.

Felciano’s knife scrapes against the pipe, stopping just short of sinking into Ivan’s neck. Ivan finds himself returning that maniacal grin and almost enjoying their scuffle. He uses the pipe to deflect Feliciano’s blows and tries to knock him off-balance or bring his pipe up hard enough to break some bones. He manages to hit Feliciano’s fingers several times, but the boy has a good grip despite the bruises.

Toris concentrates on Ludwig, who is yelling for his lover - as if he had any right to feel love after what they did to Feliks. He grits his teeth and raises his gun with the intent to kill – but he can’t do it. His hand is shaking, his body isn't cooperating. He can smell Feliks' perfume; it's making his eyes tear and filling his lungs so that he can’t breathe. Someone barrels past him, bumping into his outstretched arm and making him drop his gun. He ducks down out of the line of fire to find it, and instead encounters the body of Romeo Seneca. The man’s eyes are wide, trapped forever in surprised horror as blood pools around the back of his head. It was a clean shot, neater than a lot of Ivan’s handiwork, but it makes Toris feel nauseous. He gives up his search for the gun and drags himself into a corner away from the madness. He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t what Feliks would want.

Antonio leaps forward and Lovino chases after his idiot, nearly tripping over a body on the ground. Toni has his gun out, but he appears to be shooting haphazardly and with little care for his own health. If Feliciano wasn’t crawling over Ivan like some kind of heavily armed spider monkey, Lovino and Toni would probably be dead by now – and that would be a damn waste, given that the whole thing started because Ludwig refused to give Toni up. Lovino will have to sort through that whole surprise later, when he’s not in the middle of a shootout. He finally manages to grab a hold of Toni and drag him behind one of the overturned card tables.

“ _What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”_ Lovino hisses. “You have to get out of here, you’re the one he’s looking for!”

“I know, I – look, if I don’t do something, all of you are going to die!” Toni replies.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. We’ve got an entire security team, and you’re _my_ bodyguard. Your job is to keep me safe, to hell with everyone else. As I’ve apparently elected to save your ass, you’re gonna have to hold off on martyrdom for another day,” says Lovino.

“But-“

“Shut up. If he catches you, he’ll kill you and put your mangled body on display – possibly not in that order. I just...I can't see that happen, alright? Sadik left the side door open. We’ll go the back route to the Rainbow, get help from Francis or something.” Lovino’s eyes widen as a new scheme hits him. “Toni, go to Francis. You saw what Ivan was doing with Liza. He _knows_ you're in love with that who- with Francis. What do you think he's going to do to him?”

“Shit,” Toni curses. Lovi’s right. He needs to make sure that Francis and Lovino are safe, no matter what happens.

This time it’s Toni who grabs hold of Lovino, checking for their next point of coverage before dragging him toward a row of slots in line with the exit. Behind them the whole floor is a mass of confusion, and for a moment Lovino thinks they might actually make it out of the casino unnoticed. But of course, that’s too much to ask for. Before they can make a break for the next row, a bullet shatters the screen of the machine in front of them, narrowly missing Toni’s head. They both look up and find Grell, one of Ivan’s loyal cronies, blocking their path.

“Naughty boys, trying to run! Mr. Braginski thought you might. He asked me to keep an eye on you. At least you’ve made my job exciting!” she says.

“Glad we could oblige,” Toni mutters, raising his gun.

“Ah-ah-ah,” says Grell, aiming her weapon for Lovino. “Mr. Braginski said not to kill you, but he didn’t say a word about Mr. Vargas here. Put it down or I’ll see to it he loses far more than a finger. Don’t reach for any others, either. We’ll pat you down soon enough.”

Lovino glares at Toni, daring him to do something stupid. To his relief, Toni slowly lowers his gun and pushes it behind them, out of his reach but also out of Grell’s. Lovi tries to think quickly. As it stands, Grell could shoot him before he could reach his gun or find cover. They might be able to hold out until the fight is over, but, as much as Lovino hates to admit it, there’s a decent chance it won’t end in their favor. They're caught. Lovi glances across the room, hoping against hope that Ivan isn’t charging at them already. What he finds is far worse: their allies are embattled, Ludwig is exchanging fire with Yao, and Ivan has just thrown Feliciano to the ground.

They wrestle for a moment, but Ivan leverages his greater weight to trap Feliciano’s legs. He angles his pipe across Feliciano’s neck and forces it down. “Tell me, little one. Can you smile without breathing?”

The pressure crushes Feliciano’s windpipe and sends half his mind into panicked darkness. But Feliciano is used to the unpredictable operations of his mind and continues to react on instinct. Ivan must keep both hands on the pipe to hold Feliciano down, while Feliciano’s knife hand remains free. He shoves the knife into Ivan's mouth, tearing a hole through the side of his face. Ivan howls and grabs his cheek, releasing one side of the pipe. Feli shoves the pipe up toward Ivan's injured face, gasping for air as he rolls free.

“Now hold still, you're only half done!” Feli croaks. He swipes at Ivan again and narrowly avoids a bullet that wizzes by his head. He is less lucky with the body that barrels him into a slot machine, knocking the knife from his hand.

Yao is above him, eyes burning and teeth barred. He gave up on Ludwig the moment he heard Ivan yell and saw the blood pouring from his face. He aims his gun at Feliciano’s head, chancing another glance at Ivan while Feliciano is incapacitated. “Alright?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ivan replies.

Yao snarls and pulls the trigger - but there’s only a click. Feliciano’s face remains intact, looking back at him with that crazed grin. Yao holsters his gun and grabs hold of Feliciano’s neck instead, flipping his ring to reveal a blade, the same one that Ivan noticed all those months ago when they first began to see one another as something other than enemies. “Go find the Spaniard,” he calls to Ivan. “I’m going to maim this little lunatic, but maybe I’ll keep him breathing for you.”

Ivan nods, adrenaline overcoming agony as he scans the casino. Grell whistles and waves to him, pointing to her captives on the floor. The good side of his mouth pulls up into a smirk, the other hanging open and only contributing to the terror inspired by his expression. He picks up his gun and stalks toward them, barely bothering to dodge the gunfire.

Grell’s momentary distraction gives them just one shot at survival, and Lovino doesn’t hesitate to take it. He dives for his gun and shoots, hitting Grell in the stomach. He takes only a second to savor the look of surprise on Toni’s face as he grabs his hand, then ducks around the bar and out the side door into the air. After catching his breath Lovi spares a thought for his brother, but Toni has already slammed the door shut and shoved a garbage bin in front of it. There is no turning back.

Feliciano and Yao struggle against the slot machine, knobs and edges digging into Feliciano’s back as Yao presses him into it. Feliciano stretches to reach another blade hidden in his boot, but it’s just out of reach. Blood is already running down his cheek from a cut by Yao’s ring, but the blade isn’t big enough to cut deeper than his skin. Feli lets his body relax for a moment, then lurches to the side again, fingers brushing the hilt.

“I should have killed you years ago,” says Yao. “Should’ve had Holly poison your pills. Then again, this might be better. This way I get to make you bleed!”

He strikes Feliciano again, leaving a second line of blood across his face. Feliciano hardly feels it, his attention on the weight of the blade in his hand as he slides it free. The next time Yao raises his ring hand, Feliciano is ready. He meets the blow with his own knife and slices Yao’s ring clean off, fingers included.

It takes Yao a moment to realize what is different. Then he looks down and realizes his ring gone - and so are the fingers it was resting on. He screams and lifts Feliciano by the throat, intending to bash his head in on the edge of the slot machine.

“ _Feli!”_ The name rings out at the same time as a bullet hits Yao’s thigh and knocks him sideways. Ludwig reaches them seconds later and gathers Feliciano into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Liebling. I tried to reach you sooner, but-”

“I'm alright, Ludwig. Just a scratch. Oh, look!” Felciano squirms free and retrieves Yao’s two fingers, still attached by the ring. “It’s a present for Lovi.”

“Now is not the time to be thinking of presents!” Ludwig yells. “You are going back to our room, _now_. The dogs will keep you safe until-”

“Look out!” Feliciano pushes Ludwig as a bullet flies past them. Yao’s made it halfway to his feet again, his bloody hand pressed against his leg and the other aiming his reloaded gun. His aim is shaky though, and Ludwig is faster on the trigger. His second shot hits Yao in the chest, and this time when Yao falls he stays down.

Yao’s cry freezes Ivan in his tracks, inches from the side door. He turns in time to see the man fall, and it triggers something in him stronger than the desire for vengeance. Roaring like a bear, he abandons his pursuit of Antonio and races for Ludwig instead. He doesn’t even bother to aim; he simply shoots.

Sharp pain sprouts somewhere between Ludwig’s shoulder and chest, reverberating through his ribs collar bone. His eyes blow wide as he falls. He makes one last ditch effort to throw Feli toward some kind of safety, but manages to do little more than press his gun into Feliciano’s hand.

Feliciano shrieks, a sound so shrill that many of those left standing drop their weapons to cover their ears. Ludwig is at Feli’s feet, staring up at him with blood staining his shirt and spreading over the floor. In Feli’s mind the stain becomes a red river rushing around them, consuming everything, rising up to his knees and dragging everyone else away. Only he and Ivan are left, staring at one another across the casino floor with Ludwig and Yao floating between them. Ivan is reloading his gun, bullets spent in his fit of rage and blood still pouring from his cheek. Feliciano raises Ludwig's gun and shoots, watching the bullet spin toward Ivan until suddenly, someone new bursts from the river of blood and breaks the illusion.

Toris has watched the fight like a dream or a movie, his body refusing to move or respond as the battle raged around him. When the gun goes off he’s barely aware of moving, not even thinking as he lunges in front of Ivan. He feels the impact slam into his forehead, but the pain between his eyes lasts for only a second before the world is black, then white, then full of color and sight and sound. He sees something open up, something big, and the shadow beyond it slowly materializes into something more familiar. _Feliks. He can see Feliks._

Ivan stares at the body in front of him, absolutely stunned. Toris just took a bullet. For _him_. Whether Toris meant to do it or not is a mystery he will never unravel; perhaps it was more suicide than rescue. He starts to reach for Toris, but the man is clearly dead. There's nothing more Ivan can do for him. He scans the casino, a stillness beginning to settle as both sides realize their bosses are finished. Antonio has escaped, but there are more important things for the moment. Feliciano is standing over Ludwig, gun still raised as though he, too, can't quite believe what has just happened. Yao groans from his place between them, and Ivan makes his choice. He cannot enact his revenge and save his lover – at least, not today. He lifts Yao as gently as he can and gives a sharp order for his men to follow. He glares at Feliciano, and his words come out strange through the hole in his cheek. “This is not over.”

Ivan retreats, and Feliciano drops to his knees beside Ludwig. Ludwig is breathing and conscious, and the rivers of blood Feli imagined are no more than a trickle. He pulls off his jacket and presses it against the wound, then takes Ludwig's hand and makes him hold it.

“Keep pressure right there, Luddy, and I’ll be back. There's something I have to do,” Feli says. He crawls across the floor to Toris’ body, retrieving his knife along the way. Everyone has to smile, and Feliciano must follow his rules without exceptions, even for Toris. When he reaches the body, however, he pauses. The corners of Toris’ lips are already turned up, and even with a bullet in his head Toris looks happier than he has in months. Feliciano puts the knife down and closes his friend's eyes. “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Toris. It's good to see you smile again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parola d'ordine - password (Italian - see what we did there? We're very creative.)


	62. Over the Rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the shootout at La Citta, everyone runs to the Rainbow for cover. Antonio and Lovino hide out with Francis while they wait for news of their family, and run into a worried Alfred. Downstairs, a very grateful Elizabeta offers Sadik an interesting opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for the comments and kudos!

Refugees from La Citta begin pouring into the Rainbow only moments after the first shots break out at La Citta. They follow Sadik and Elizabeta out the side door and across the alley, a terrified array of locals and guests who had no idea what they stepped into. Some go straight out the front door and keep running, but many take sanctuary in the hotel, afraid to leave in case the fight spills outside.

Francis hears the gunfire from his room and runs to the lobby, afraid to look out his balcony and see a scene like Gilbert’s murder all over again. He helps Sesel and Roderick settle a shell-shocked Liza off to the side, then works with Gupta and some of the girls to keep the peace among their terrified guests. Kiku is still at the hospital, and while Francis is glad he missed the chaos he desperately wishes for the steady presence of his friend. Organizing the people in the lobby is all that prevents him from rushing across to La Citta in order to find Toni.

His wish is granted moments later. The entire room jumps when a staff door bursts open to reveal Lovino and Antonio, weapons still drawn. The people panic and a few duck down or race for the front door, but Francis runs to meet them. Toni catches him in a tight embrace, both of them shaking in a mix of fear and relief.

“You idiots can hug later, _after_ we get the fuck out of here!” says Lovino.

Francis pulls away, looking over them both and glad to see no obvious injuries. “What’s happening? What do you need?”

Toni glances over his shoulder. “A safe space. Ivan’s coming. We blocked the door, but…”

Francis nods and leads them down the hall to the kitchen, then ducks through a door into the laundry room. The Rainbow Hotel and Spa was a legitimate hotel before Elizabeta and Roderick bought the building, and they made very few changes to the layout. There are still nondescript doors leading to alternate halls and rooms for the staff, still in use as a private, safe area for the Rainbow’s employees. Even Francis has never dared to take one of his lovers up the staff stairs before, but he decides Liza will forgive the intrusion under the circumstances.

“I’ll take you to Kiku’s room,” Francis explains. “There’s a fire escape, and it’s close to these stairs. We were afraid Yao would come after him, in the early days. And he did, but – well, Kiku was never the one in need of rescuing.” He leads them through a door and into Kiku’s room, perfectly neat and still smelling of incense.

“I’m going to kill that bastard Wang next time I see him,” Lovino growls. “And if I find out he so much as _touched_ Feli, I’m going to make it slow. I’ll burn him alive, see how much of a dragon he really is.”

“No, no, you’ve got to leave!” Toni insists. He’s still breathing too fast, gripping his gun and unable to let it go. “I just needed to see you, Fran, to warn you. You and Lovi should get out, I’ll take care of everything else.”

Lovino pries the gun out of Toni’s hand and pushes him to sit on the bed. “Don’t you _dare_ waste my time with that shit,” he growls. “I left my family behind for you, and my business, and hell, I nearly got shot. So until we figure out where to go next and what happened to Feliciano, you’re going to sit down and shut up.”

“But-“

“Be still for a moment, love,” says Francis, taking a seat beside him on the bed. “Be still and listen. What do you hear?”

All three turn their heads toward the window. “Sirens,” says Lovino. He sneaks over to the balcony and peers around the curtain. “There’s people outside. Getaway cars. They’re trying to leave before the cops show up. I think it’s over.”

“Unless they’re coming here,” says Toni.

They are quiet for a few more minutes, dread and tension building as they wait for the sound of boots on the stairs or screams from below. There’s nothing but the sirens and the squeal of wheels as half a dozen police cars appear alongside an ambulance. Francis holds Toni close to his chest while Lovino keeps up his surveillance, occasionally checking his phone for some sign that his family made it out alive.

“It's alright now, you see?” Francis says gently. “We're both here. You’re safe, Lovino and I are safe.”

Toni gasps against Francis' neck, breathing in his cologne as though he needs it to survive. “No, no, we’ll never be safe. Ivan wants me, wants to hurt me, and he'll come for you, too. Please, you have to hide. Please, Frannie, I can't lose you, I can't!”

Francis runs his hand through Toni’s hair and over his back. “You won’t. No one is going to hurt me, not Ivan or Yao or anyone else. You always see to that, don’t you? And now it’s my turn. We’ll find a way to keep you safe.”

Francis may be an excellent liar, but all three of them know he’s making promises that he can’t keep. If Ivan believes that Toni’s death will avenge his sister, there is nothing Francis can offer him to end the blood feud – unless, of course, Ivan decides that Francis’ life is an appropriate substitute. Francis himself has simply decided the world is unfair. No life can replace one that’s been lost. He kisses Toni’s mouth. “You are so precious to me, 'Tonio.”

“You're more precious to me than anything, Francis,” Toni murmurs, looking up to meet his eyes. “You've gotta hide. You don't understand, La Citta is a bloodbath. I can't let you die. Hide. Please, hide for me.”

The words tug on Francis’ heart. He wishes he was a better man, one who deserved the love Toni heaps upon him. He strokes Toni’s face and sighs. “And what would happen then? Where would I go, and what would become of you and dear Lovino?”

Lovi rolls his eyes at the scene, trying to feel angry but mostly just feeling worried. A sudden knock at the door does nothing to ease his fears, and his fingers twitch toward his gun.

Toni rises before Lovi can move, going from lover to protector in an instant. "Stay here," he insists, “or get ready to head out that window.”

Before he can take another step, their visitor announces himself. "Hey- Fran? Francis? It’s Alfred. You weren’t in your room, so I thought maybe you’d be with your friend."

"Put your guns away, it's only Alfred," says Francis. He rises quickly and passes Toni, though he has the sense to open the door just a crack and make sure it really _is_ his lover. He's relieved to find Alfred's face alone before the door, yet very worried that the cop is here at all. "What are you doing here? This isn't a good time, something's happened-"

"Why do you think I'm here?" Alfred asks. He brushes his way into the room and takes Francis by the arms. "Are you okay? I came over as soon as I could get away. Fuck, it looks like a freaking war zone out there."

Francis easily returns Alfred’s embrace and feels some of his anxiety melt away, replaced by the light Alfred brings to his heart whenever they're together. He always seems to appear when Francis needs him most. "Yes, I'm alright. We’re taking care of each other."

He steps back, drawing Alfred into the room so he can close the door again. He turns to his other guests, one arm over Alfred's shoulder while he reaches for Toni's hand. "Alfred, this is Antonio and Lovino. Have you met them? Toni, Lovi, this is-"

"Oh for fuck's sake! The last thing we need now is a cop." Lovino scowls, leveling his glare at Alfred. He was starting to feel almost glad that they’d come to Francis, who keeps Toni calm and safe in a way Lovino never could. He's heard enough about this Alfred from Arthur and Toni already, and Toni's resentment has rubbed off on him more than a little bit.

"Yeah, no. Now is not the time, loverboy," Toni says. This Alfred that Francis is so taken with is practically a kid, and yet Francis is clinging to him. They don't need anyone else here to give them away, especially not an idiot cop with a crush.

Alfred, never one to be easily dissuaded, keeps his focus on Francis. He's relieved Francis isn't hurt, but worried about the people will need help. He saw all the people downstairs, vulnerable people who had no part in all the fighting. He wants to stay here, protect this place, protect Francis. He touches Francis' cheek. "I wanna keep you safe. Tell me what you need."

"Getting out of here would be a start," Toni snaps.

"Hey, man, I-"

Toni pushes his shoulder. "Shut up and go! A fucking cop here? Do you know what people would do if they saw you comin' out of this room? Jesus."

Francis moves between them. "Stop it! He's not in uniform, no one would know what he was if you stopped shouting it!" He softens a bit, taking a step toward Toni. "Oh my heart, don't do this. You've got every right to be angry, but Alfred hasn't done a thing to you. He came to make sure I was alright, just like you. Stay with me, rest. Don't let Ivan's shadow make you do something foolish."

Toni wants to hit something, but it's Francis asking and he’s never been able to deny him. He can only glower at the cop, stalking out of Francis' grasp and toward Lovino. "Just get out of here. Get back to your post."

Alfred presses his lips together, a feeling of dread sliding through him. He's heard that Antonio is tough and fiercely protective. No one to mess with. The last thing he wants to do is make a problem here with Francis in the line of fire. "Just... give me a minute."

"Come out into the hall," Francis says gently, guiding Alfred to the door. Everyone is on edge and it won't take much to spark a new outbreak of violence. Another time, another day, he's sure they wouldn't act like this. Toni's usually so easy to be with; he used to tease Francis about all of his infatuations until Francis was blushing and even Gilbert was laughing hard enough to hurt his ribs. Perhaps the shadow over them isn't Ivan's after all.

"Francis."

"Yes?" Francis turns, surprised that it's Lovino calling him. The man's mouth is a thin line, his usual scowl replaced by something more solemn.

"You know he's working with Braginski, right? Undercover or not, somebody told Ivan who killed Natalia. I'm just saying, maybe you should stay in here."

"I know," Francis replies. "But I can't believe it was him. How would he have known? Besides, Alfred wouldn't hurt anyone. Not ever." With that, he heads into the hall and lets the door shut behind him.

Alfred is shifting from foot to foot. He can't blame Antonio or Lovino for not wanting him here, but he's worried sick about Francis. The casino is right next door and that makes the hotel a natural soft target. Plus, he can’t help feeling a twinge of guilt. He didn’t give Ivan much information; it’s not like that one bullet gave Alfred a name and address for Natalia’s killer. But he _did_ send Ivan part of the ballistics report, and if Ivan knows guns as well as everyone says, it’s possible he figured out more than the police. Ivan’s one of the good guys though. He wouldn’t shoot a casino full of people – right?

Alfred waits for Francis to shut the door before he speaks again. "I don't think your friends like me much."

"They've just been through something terrible. They need time. Usually Toni likes to tease my other boyfriends, especially cute ones like you. You'd get along, I think, if things were different." Francis sighs and leans against the wall. "But they aren't, and I'm tired of wishing." He looks back at Alfred. "You're not going back to the Braginski’s bar, are you?"

"I have to. If I don't, they'll know something's up," Alfred says. He squeezes Francis' shoulders. "Look, it's gonna be okay. I promise. Just... Maybe come stay at my apartment for a little while."

Francis wishes he could believe Alfred, but for now all he can do is be thankful that those he loves most will live another day. He squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment before responding. "The Braginskis already know you are not who you pretend to be, Alfred. If they don't then it's only a matter of time. You're the one who should go home - or better, get out of the city. Take Matthew and go on a trip somewhere far away. Doesn’t he have a grandmother up north?"

"I'm _not_ running away. I can't leave you here," Alfred says sharply. He hesitates for a moment, glancing at the door and down the hall, then kisses Francis.

Francis’ heart swells with emotions. There’s too many to pick them apart, so he does what he can to express them. He pushes Alfred back against the wall and kisses him soundly, only pulling away when the need for air becomes more pressing. Even then his body remains pressed against Alfred's, warm breath leaving a mist over his glasses. "Let’s trust one another, then. Trust that we are both fools, but that we can protect ourselves."

"Francis..." Alfred starts, his hands sliding down the man’s shoulders. Dread is still twisting through his gut. Something about the people in that room makes him want to get Francis as far away as possible. "It's not you I don't trust."

"Have no fear for me, mon ange. I know this city and its people, and I have survived all its trials." Francis sighs and touches Alfred's cheek, the skin soft and plump. "You are so very young. I should never have let myself love you this way. Well, I cannot change what I have done. Try to stay out of this as much as you can. Promise me that, at least, and I will vouch for my guests. They're not going to hurt anyone now. They've seen enough blood."

Alfred presses his lips together. He breathes out slowly, then leans in for another kiss. "Call me before you go to sleep tonight. Please."

"I will be glad to hear your voice. You ease my very soul," Francis replies. He can hear shuffling coming from the room and glances toward the door. "You need to leave now. I have another lover who needs me more, and you have your duties. Tell Matthew to remember to take it easy."

"I will. I will," Alfred says. He doesn't understand who could need Francis more than he does at this moment. But then, he's always thought it best never to ask. He kisses his lips one more time, then turns down the hall.

When Francis returns to the room he finds Lovino leaning against the wall, speaking in rapid Italian over his phone. Toni beckons Francis back to the bed and mouths “ _Feliciano_.” Francis rejoins him with a nod, and the two wait to hear what has become of their friends.

Lovino’s face is still solemn when he hangs up, but the tension is gone from his shoulders. “Feli’s alive,” he says. “Ludwig was shot, but they took him to the clinic and they’re both getting patched up. For the moment, it’s all over. Braginski ran away with his tail between his legs after Ludwig shot his sweet little dragon, and Feli managed to cut up Braginski’s face. I hope they both fucking die.”

Toni breathes a sigh of relief and presses his face into Francis’ shoulder. “Thank God. Thank _God_.”

“Yao is...dead?” says Francis.

Lovino snorts. “We can only hope. I didn't see him go down. With our luck he just stubbed a toe. Why? You fucking him too?”

“No! No. But, Kiku...” Francis shakes his head. He has no idea how to react if Yao is truly dead. He hates him for the monster he became to Kiku, but knows that there were times Kiku loved Yao anyway – a little bit too much like he and Gilbert for Francis’ comfort. “Who else have you heard from? Did anyone else die?”

Lovino shrugs. “My cousin. Lots of idiots who thought they were hot stuff. Few good ones, too. Shame. Oh, and get this. You know Braginski’s little pet? _Took a fucking bullet for him_. Bam, right between the eyes.”

Francis stiffens. “Do you mean _Toris_?”

“Oh, right, you were friends,” Lovino says, looking a little sheepish. “Well, if it makes you feel any better it was quick, and Feli seems to think it’s part of some great cosmic plan so he gets to be with his boyfriend, or something.”

“Toris and Feliks, maybe Yao and...good God.” Francis is glad he's already sitting. It's all he can do to hold onto Toni. “So much death. I cannot stand it!”

Toni digs his fingers into Francis’ shoulders and keeps him close, propping each other up like a house of cards. He's not sure what to do, what to say. “I'm sorry you lost a friend. But it is the way of things here. We can only keep each other alive, you and I.”

Lovino smacks Toni in the back of the head. “You're supposed to be _my_ bodyguard, not his. And I just saved your life, so maybe you could be a little grateful!”

“You know what…?!” Toni trails off, the fight leaving him. He reaches for Lovino and draws him onto the bed. “You’re right, Lovi. I’m sorry.”

Lovino's open-mouthed shock is priceless, and Francis almost laughs. He leans over Toni and kisses Lovino’s cheek before he can protest. “Thank you for saving our ‘Tonio.”

“Do not _ever_ thank me again,” Lovino snarls and wipes at his cheek. Yet when Toni wraps an arm around his shoulders, he allows himself to be drawn into their embrace and breathe easy, if only for a moment.

XXX

Sadik sighs, running a hand through his hair and trying not to let anyone see it’s still shaking. He’s sitting with Elizabeta and Sesel on a couch set up in the corner of the lobby, where they can keep an eye on the sudden influx of people while gaining a little privacy. Apparently showing Liza out the side door has earned him a space there, which he’s grateful for mainly because it means he’s left alone. Roderick is at Liza’s other side, offering her water and ignoring Sadik altogether.

Things have gone quiet now, and Sadik knows he should go back to La Citta, find out what the _fuck_ happened over there. On the other hand, he feels the need to stay at the Rainbow and take care of the people here. They're tough - street tough, most of them. But he's got a gun and, if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t really _want_ to find out what became of the casino. He's glad Elizabeta got out with little more than a few bruises. She's a good lady: smart, takes no shit, pretty as they come. And she has every right to be goddamned terrified right now.

“Hey,” he says, because he feels like he should say _something_. “I'm… I’m glad you're alright.”

Elizabeta stares at him, not sure what to say. She feels indebted to him now. He smuggled her out of the casino, left his own crew to get her and the other civilians to safety. Sadik doesn't even know her. He’s Kiku’s friend, but he’s never been a regular customer. Rumor has it he was involved with the murder of Heracles and the Beilschmidts, a dangerous man with a history of selling his gun to the highest bidder. And yet he saved her.

“I'm glad you were there,” she says at last. “Thank you. For getting me out of there.”

“Nothing to it,” Sadik shrugs. “Braginski let you go. If he hadn't, well, you’d be dead. All I did was open a few doors.” He clenches his fist. “This is just...fuck.”

Liza nods, looking down at her water and wishing it was something stronger. She flinches as the back door slams open and more of her boys and girls rush in, searching for the sanctuary she and Roderick promised the Rainbow would be all those years ago. A safe place for business, a place where they’d have a community to protect them. After everything that’s happened in the past year, she’s not sure it feels so safe anymore.

Roderick shares a look with her, and he understands the pain behind her eyes. He, too, remembers when he first met Liza, when he made his way back home to La Citta and built an oasis with her. Back then this place was untouchable, a neutral zone like the clinic. But their protections are eroding. He presses a hand to Liza's knee comfortingly, then rises to his feet and heads toward the kitchen. “I need to make some calls.”

The other three remain quiet for a while, watching the people in the lobby. It’s beginning to thin out now as people decide that it’s safe to go outside, safe to get farther away. “I'm glad it's over,” says Sesel.

“Don't be stupid, kid. It's not over; it's _never_ over. You just don’t remember the last time this city came to blows,” Sadik replies. He leans back and shuts his eyes. He can't keep up with this shit anymore. He's like a hooker himself, selling his body, his reputation, to anyone willing to pay. It would be nice to settle for a little while, to answer to himself and stop worrying about Beilschimdt, or Vargas, or Wang, or whoever else wants to play king of the dung hill.

Liza looks Sadik over, then turns to Sesel. “I'm a little cold. Would you mind grabbing that green jacket from the closet in my room? It may _take you a little while_ to find it.”

“Sure…?” Sesel quirks an eyebrow, inclining her head toward Sadik. Liza nods, so Sesel stands and hurries away.

Thank God for Girl Code. Elizabeta smiles, sipping her water as she crosses one leg over the other and tries to pretend she's got some of her bearings back. She's not fragile, no matter how good she is at faking it. But she could have died today, and no matter what he says this man saved her life. “You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette or a flask on you? I'd kill for either right now, but I don't think Roddy would approve.”

“Thought this was a non-smoking establishment,” Sadik says. He pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. He pulls two from the pack, figuring no one can yell at him if the madam’s smoking too.

“Special occasions call for special indulgences,” Liza replies. She takes the offered cigarette between her fingers, leaning in and allowing Sadik to light it for her. Cutting her eyes to his face, she smiles and takes a drag, allowing the heat to fill her before she closes her eyes and exhales. She angles herself towards him and lets the smoke rise between them, her voice going low as she watches him through her eyelashes. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Sadik blinks. Any other day he'd already be sliding closer, charming, trying to work his way into her pants. Right now, he finds it hard to believe she's trying to grab a customer. It's...disappointing. He looks away. “You're welcome.”

“Really. Thank you,” she repeats and reaches for his hand. She knows she has him. She can see it in the way he's straightening, looking away, trying to be the big man and resist her in her near-fragile state. It makes her smile. He's proving himself to be a good man without even trying. “I wanted to say that again. Because you don't seem to get what you did for me back there. You kept me safe. You stood between me and all that hell. You got me home when I forgot I had somewhere to run to.” She slides her hand into his, hers small and smooth against his big, callused fingers. “You're stronger than I thought you were.”

Sadik shakes his head and pulls away. “Lady, you've got the wrong idea. Don't go telling me those kinds of things. I was scared out of my fucking mind. I didn't want to die. Getting you out of there saved my own ass.”

Liza leans back and examines him. Sadik is best known as La Citta's bouncer, but it’s also whispered that he offers his muscle to those who can pay for it, no matter the side. Now he’s here, slumped over her couch with bags under his eyes and a haunted look. Perhaps this is a lucky break for both of them. Given that the city seems to be falling to pieces around them, the Rainbow could use a new security guard. “Are you tired of your work for La Citta?”

Sadik starts, taken completely off guard. This is not the direction he expected their conversation to go. He's been around the Rainbow, mostly due to his friendship with Kiku, and he knows the rules. Kicked a few of the mean fucks out himself, if he happened to be around at the time. He doesn't like to see someone treated badly if they don't deserve it. It's kind of gratifying when he gets to kick ass for the right reasons. “Sometimes. Why?”

“Today I saw firsthand just how close a fire can get to my front door. And this place is in desperate need of a firefighter – or a doorman, whatever the hell you want to be.” She drops the cigarette in her water and sets the glass on a coffee table. “I'm prepared to offer you about a hundred dollars a night, a room free of charge, and the girl of your choice every Friday.”

That's spare change compared to what Sadik was making at the height of his 'career', when he could go from Beilschmidt to Wang to Braginski and somehow stay alive. The benefits, however, are priceless. No more running around, dealing with the crazy Vargas brothers or Ludwig's endless demands, the long line of thugs, fools, little bosses, and big-time players willing to take a piece out of him to get to his bosses. Liza’s offering housing, freedom, and a little something extra. He lets the smoke fill him up, then breathes it out through his nose. “I think we could work something out.”


	63. All That Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig and Feliciano arrive at the clinic to recover from the shootout. Elsewhere, Eduard and Raivis grapple with their feelings and what the future may hold - if there is a future for them at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the showdown aftermath!

It isn't often Berwald gets one of the big bosses as a patient. They tend to take care of themselves, or go to the hospital. When they show up at the clinic, it means that the injury isn’t one they want to explain to the medical staff – and that usually means that there are more patients to follow. Given the blood all over Ludwig and Feliciano, and the fact that they’ve showed up with three other people, it looks like that theory will continue to hold true. Berwald turns into the bathroom to wash up while Tino guides the patients into exam rooms. He splashes some water on his face, too, trying to clear his head for whatever is to come.

When he returns to the room, Ludwig is sitting on the table with his shirt off. Tino is cleaning a wound right beneath his shoulder while Feliciano hovers a little too close to make Tino’s job easy. “Gunshot,” Tino says over his shoulder.

Berwald nods and checks Ludwig’s back, looking for an exit.

“Nt-!” Ludwig holds his breath, trying to cut off any noise that would demean him or worry Feliciano. He reaches for Feli, unable to bear just how close he came to losing the love of his life today. “Feli...” Berwald digs at the wound and he grunts.

Feliciano holds his hand as tightly as he dares. “It's okay Luddy, you can cry if you want to. And for every tear, I'm going to take a piece out of Ivan.” He growls the last bit, face going hard and cold. An instant later his expression shifts again, looking to Berwald and Tino with puppy-wide eyes. “You won't let him die, will you?”

“‘Course not,” Berwald mumbles. He points to the larger wound on Ludwig’s back. “Look here – it went straight through. Doesn’t look like it hit anything vital, either.” Best not to mention how close it came to hitting an artery. He and Tino have had more than a little practice with Feliciano’s instabilities. He glances over Feliciano as the man leans in close, visually assessing the wounds on Feli’s face and neck. It’s hard to tell how much of the blood is actually his. “Tino – can y’take care of Mr. Vargas while I close this up?”

Tino puts a gentle hand on Feliciano’s arm, but he immediately rips it away. “No! I’m staying with Ludwig!”

“Alright, it’s ok. I’ll take care of your friends and come back later, how’s that?” Tino says softly. Berwald nods in approval, so Tino gives them a soft smile and leaves.

Berwald pulls the stethoscope from around his neck and listens to Ludwig’s lungs and heart, making sure the bullet didn’t graze anything as it passed beneath his collar bone. His pulse and breath are fast, but there’s no rasping or wet noises. He nods, satisfied. “It’ll heal well. I’ll give y’something for the pain and fix it up. Don't move your shoulder.”

Ludwig nods, gritting his teeth as he watches the doctor. He's known the man for a long time, and he knows when Berwald is afraid. For the moment he’s calm, and the doctor is one of the few people in this town Ludwig truly trusts. He squeezes Feliciano's hand. “It's not so bad with you here, knowing you’re safe.”

“I'm still going to tear them apart,” Feliciano hisses. “I will. They're going to pay. Braginski and Wang and everyone with them.”

“It was an eye for an eye, Feli. This has to end, and we need time to recover. You know that - we've lost too many.” Ludwig sighs. He feels slightly odd talking about this in front of Berwald. The clinic is good at keeping secrets, but the less Berwald knows the better it will be for all of them.

Berwald maintains his silence as he returns to the bed. He knows there’s a war going on better than anyone. ‘Soldiers’ from all sides show up at his door – though not many from the Wang household. Yao has his own doctor. A _team_ of them, really. That may also be why fewer Braginski associates have been at the clinic lately, now that Ivan and Yao have joined forces. Berwald frowns and concentrates on Ludwig’s shoulder. He never takes sides, but he agrees with Ludwig on this: the violence must _end_.

“I don't like it,” says Feliciano. “They _invaded_ us! Ivan could have killed you. He _wanted_ to kill Toni - I don't even know what happened to him and Lovino!”

“They got out,” Ludwig replies. He hisses as Berwald prods at his wound again, and waits for the pain to settle into a duller ache before he continues. “I saw them. They went through the side door, toward the Rainbow.”

“Good. Francis will take care of them. Poor Elizabeta, too! I'm glad Ivan didn't kill her. Though I should take one of his boys for killing Romeo,” Feliciano says. His fingers twitch, wishing they could play with one of his knives, but he left them in the front safe. There are very strict rules about who is allowed to handle pointy things in the clinic.

With a small sigh, Ludwig brings Feliciano's hand to his lips and kisses it. His knuckles taste like blood. “It’s done, Feli. If we try to retaliate now, we will be outnumbered. Vastly. And you are far more important to me than anyone else.”

Berwald doesn't like to ask questions, but the people who work at the Rainbow are almost friends. He sees them often for regular checkups, and they actually pay him most of the time. “Liza ok?”

“Fine. They let her go, and one of our men is taking care of her,” says Ludwig.

“Which man?” Berwald asks, narrowing his eyes. Liza can handle herself, but he worries anyway.

“Sadik Adnan. I’ve got reasons to trust him. He took her back to the Rainbow, I think, with my cousin Roderick.”

Feliciano pats Berwald’s back. “Don't worry about them, doctor! Liza and her friends are always okay. Except that sometimes they're not, and that's very sad. But you take care of Luddy now, okay?”

Berwald nods. He knows Sadik. He had a habit of getting into fistfights – usually with Heracles. He didn’t seem like a terrible man, though. He and Heracles always brought one another to the clinic if it was something serious. He gets back to Ludwig’s wounds and sets about closing them up.

Ludwig grits his teeth and squeezes Feliciano's hand, trying to keep his breath even. “Feli, I- I'm fine for now. Call your brother, make sure he's okay.”

“No. I'm not leaving.” Feliciano plants his feet and moves closer, forcing Berwald to work around him.

“Love... I don't want you to see me like this. It’s not very handsome.” Ludwig closing his eyes so that he doesn't have to watch the stitches go through his skin. “Call Lovino. We need to know that he’s alright.”

“I don’t mind watching. I like it,” Feliciano replies. He’s fascinated by the way the ragged edges of Ludwig’s skin pull together, by the way a body can be torn and mended. But Ludwig tugs at his hand and he relents. He really does need to find Lovino. He kisses Ludwig, then leaves to make the call.

XXX

Eduard is sitting in the kitchen of the Braginski manor, nursing a glass of vodka and staring at the letter in his hands. The paper won’t stay still, and it takes him a moment to realize that's because his hands are shaking. It came today, right after Ivan marched his team off to La Citta like a general leading the troops. Kat handed him the letter as they watched Ivan drive away from the porch, squeezing his shoulder and offering a small smile before she turned inside. He couldn’t bring himself to open it right away – it didn’t seem right to do it alone, without Ivan, Raivis, or Toris around. Now Eduard can hear his aunt crying in the other room, and he wouldn't dare to interrupt her grief with this news. Ivan is with Yao, Toris is gone, and Raivis…

“Eddie?”

Eduard jerks free from his stupor and whirls to face the door. “Raivis,” he breathes. “I...are you alright?” He knows that Raivis has been dealing with the fallout from La Citta on Ivan’s behalf, and it terrifies him. Ivan never should have put such a burden on him, and Eddie should never have allowed it.

From that one look Raivis can tell that Eduard knows the truth about what he’s been doing, that he is actively and willingly participating in Ivan’s business. Part of him can barely stomach that, but he knew it would come out eventually. He’s been at the Wang’s house with Kaoru, both of them too nervous about their guardians to snarl too much at one another. Ivan sent him home with a small security detail eventually, instructing him to keep the house safe – and to get some rest, too. The remains of their security team is rallying, surrounding the building to keep everyone else out. With that taken care of, he’s finally able to seek out the one person who comforts him the most.

He steps toward the table and replies with a fleeting, grim smile. “I’m fine. Today was not Bring-Your-Kid-To-Work day.”

“That's not funny,” Eduard replies. He sets the letter down firmly, smoothing it out before he meets Raivis’ eyes. “Please don't say things like that, Raiv. Not today.”

Raivis is shocked by the anguish bleeding into his voice, and quickly nods in reply. He looks down at the table: a glass of juice (cranberry mixed with vodka by the smell of it), an open envelope (vellum, expensive), and a packet of papers with a blue seal in the top left corner. He motions to them, cocking his head and trying to see more if Eddie will let him. “Looks important.”

Eduard pushes his shaking hands together, trying to ground himself. “It came today. I was going to show it to Ivan…And then I thought, well, I should show it to Toris, too, because he helped me go over the application. But I remembered that he worked on it while he was visiting Feliks, and I thought it might make him sad. So I wasn't sure what to do, and I guess now it doesn't matter, because he'll never...never see it either way.”

Raivis can see the words now that he's closer. _Dear Eduard Braginski, we are pleased to announce your acceptance to the University of..._ Right there, black and white, with the school logo stamped all over the paper like permanent confetti. Happy freaking day. He steps back, feeling a cold lump in the back of his throat that cuts into his voice, making it high and hard. “Good job. You'll... You'll do really well there. It looks like a really smart school.”

“The very best; my first choice,” Eduard whispers. He shuts his eyes, feeling like a fool. Raivis is the one person who isn't happy for him, yet he’s the only one Eduard can share the news with. He always expected to be euphoric when this letter came, to be singing down the hallways. Instead, he feels rather sick, and the euphoria fighting hard with an overwhelming sense of fear and guilt. He can't go. He can’t leave all this behind, not when there's no telling if it will be here when (if) he returns. “I don't...I’m not going.”

Raivis feels cold. Isn't that what he wants to hear? What he's _longed_ for this whole time? But the words only bring back memories of their fights, of the anger he felt knowing the one he loved more than anyone else was going to leave him. He's got a channel for that anger now, and Ivan was right. He can't let this be his weakness anymore. He has to make it his strength.

“You have to go,” Raivis says softly, wishing he didn't sound so pathetic. “You need to get out of here, and you worked so hard for this.”

Eduard shakes his head. “ _No_. No, I can't. I have to stay, I have to protect you.” He looks up slowly as he says it, the truth suddenly very plain, sharp as a knife and fast as a bullet. He swallows. “If something happened to you, I would never be able to forgive myself. When Aunt Kat told me something went wrong with Ivan's plans, and I didn't see you around, I thought... I thought they must have killed you.”

The look in Eduard’s eyes leaves Raivis breathless, the fear and worry and that steady promise all suddenly clear as the blue of his irises. “I'm alive,” Raivis whispers.

They’re too close. Too close to touching, too close to everything Raivis wants. He reaches out on impulse to touch Eddie’s face. It isn't fair. When they were young and poor they lived off of touching each other: holding each other on cold nights, keeping their hands locked so they didn’t get separated on busy streets, brushing against each other as signals. It was warmth and comfort when they had nothing else. Now that they’re rich, they have everything but this. This touch, the thing that once held them together and kept them alive, has been gone for a long time. Touching Eddie’s face now feels like a great luxury, something he’s not worthy of it. That frustrates him endlessly. Raivis leans in and kisses Eduard, first just a brush of lips, then more insistent when Eddie doesn’t react at all.

For a moment Eduard is too shocked to move, even though some part of him has sensed this coming for a long time, always in the back of his mind but never admitted to. There is a part of his mind screaming that this is a terrible idea, that this is exactly what he's been trying to avoid, that he is happy with Emil. But tragedy, fear, and love short out his logic, and his heart refuses to be denied. He returns the kiss, shutting his eyes and breathing Raivis in.

Raivis feels so good that he doesn't know if he's got the will to stop. He's fucked anyway, right? This kiss says everything he's been trying to get Eddie to understand for years. It's even better than he thought it would be, too; so good that he has to drop his hands to Eddie's shoulders just for something to hold onto. How is he ever going to live without this again? How is he going to live without _Eduard_? He pulls away, gasping, shaking, exactly the wreck he knew he'd be. He stares at Eddie with two-parts joy, one-part agony.

“Oh God,” Raivis mutters, stepping back, turning away, trying to decide where he can run to. Eduard refuses to let him. He grabs Raivis’ shoulder and pulls him back for another kiss.

Raivis’ eyes pop wide open, and he gasps into Eddie's mouth, unable to believe this is real. He makes a soft noise and pulls him in tighter, dragging Eddie from his chair and wrapping his arms around his neck.

This time it’s Eduard who pulls away, gasping for air. It's cool against his mouth, and Raivis is so warm. He meets Raivis eyes and realizes they’re nearly the same height now. Raivis has grown, or perhaps it’s only that he’s standing up a little straighter. Someday, Raivis might be taller than him; he might even catch up to-

"You're not like him,” Eduard whispers desperately. “You’re not Ivan. You’re so much better. I want to find a way to get you out of here. I’ll take you with me! Or something.”

Raivis shakes his head, well aware that that's bullshit with a little bit of truth. Maybe, one day, it will work. When Eddie is settled, when he has a place that he pays for with his own money, not Ivan's. When he's far from the life he lived before. Maybe then, Eddie will come back for him. He's the only one who ever has.

Raivis still has his doubts. If Eduard is able to find his own life and be happy, then why would he want to risk returning? Unless... Unless Eduard really does love him. “Just kiss me again,” he says, willing himself to believe.

Eduard does, wrapping his arms around Raivis and holding him tight. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against Raivis'. He’s been trying to find a way to save them both for a year now, and the best solution he could come up with is sitting on the kitchen table.

“I’m going to come back,” Eduard says. “I made a promise to the boy who saved me. I promised that I would return the favor, that I’d always protect him. I haven't forgotten, and I never will. So even if I go away for a while, I swear, Raivis, I'm going to come back.”

“Don't make promises like that, Eddie,” Raivis says. “Please. I need to rely on myself now. It’s enough to know that you…this is enough.” His fingers trail softly down Eddie’s arms to his hands. He takes them both, leading him from the kitchen and down the hall toward the stairs.

Eduard stumbles after him as they tiptoe past Katyusha and climb the stairs to Raivis’ room. “Raivis...” he begins, but the rest of the question won’t leave his tongue. _Is this wrong? Is this wise?_ He's tired of asking questions. Why should it matter what they do tonight? They might all be dead tomorrow.

Raivis refuses to look back. He won't listen to questions or promises or anything else tonight. He just wants _this_ , what they have right now. At the top of the stairs he finally turns back and gives Eduard a small smile. “Forget everything else. Come with me and live for a little while.”

“Okay,” Eduard says. He squeezes Raivis’ hand and then realizes that, ever since he's been holding onto Raivis, his hands have stopped shaking.


	64. A Place for Not Telling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mattias discovers Lukas' plans to leave, and Emil desperately tries to save his brother from the violence that follows. When all three appear on Berwald's doorstep once again, the Good Doctor must decide who to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic abuse and character death in this chapter.

Mattias’ shift was long, spent dealing with the fallout of yesterday’s shootout at the casino. His partner today was some idiot newbie, too, since Lukas had the day off. They haven’t been scheduled on different days in years; he’s not sure who decided to change the schedule this week, but he has a feeling it was that bitch supervisor who’s started to get a little too interested in their inventory. Either that or Lukas put in the request, but Luk wouldn’t do that without telling him. He knows better.

On top of that, there were cop cars blocking traffic all around La Citta, so getting home from the hospital has been a nightmare. By the time he gets to his apartment, he needs something to take the edge off or he's going to put his fist through a wall. His regular stash was tapped out last week, but he keeps a few reserves around the apartment for when he really needs something.

Mattias heads to the bedroom and starts pulling junk out from under the bed so he can reach the baggie taped under the mattress. He slides out some boxes and Luk’s gym bag, then pauses. The last time he saw Luk’s duffel it was in the closet, and it was empty. Now it’s bulging, and when he tugged on the handle it definitely had some weight to it. Something about that needles at him. Why would it be here? If Lukas started going to the gym again, he’d bring the bag to work. He wouldn’t leave it under the bed. He wouldn’t, unless…

Mattias hauls the duffel upward and dumps it onto the bed, watching as half of Luk’s possessions spill out. It's packed with shit that fits his fucking boyfriend. It's got clothes and shoes, money, medication – the stuff they both take to keep the virus from taking over. Rage slides up through Matt’s veins, so hot he can't breathe for a second. Lukas is leaving. He's fucking planning to bolt on him.

The door slams, and Mattias jolts up.

_“Matt? Are you home?”_

Mattias clenches his jaw and follows Lukas’ voice to the living room. He finds him by the door, standing there like he's innocent as fuck in all of this. Like he’s done nothing wrong, like he gives a shit about Matt or the day he’s had, and he’s not planning to run off with that stupid brother of his, or one of the nurses he’s always flirting with-

“You fucking _shit_!” Mattias barrels towards Lukas with his fists curled.

Lukas drops his keys and holds his hands in front of his face. What’s sad is that he isn’t really surprised by the sudden violence. Matt had started getting twitchy again, asking loaded questions about the guys at work or who he's meeting when he picks Emil up from Eduard’s house. It’s the venom behind Mattias’ yell that shocks him. He’s never seen Matt look so hurt, and it terrifies him. He ducks away before they can collide and backs up toward the couch. “I don’t understand - what’s wrong?”

“Oh, you fucking _bitch_! Like you don't know!” Mattias grabs Lukas by the back of his shirt and yanks him down the hall. He throws him into the bedroom, hand locked in Luk's hair as he forces him to stare at the proof of his infidelity laid out on the bed. “What the fuck is this shit? Huh? What is it?!”

Lukas’ heart nearly stops when he sees the emptied bag, and all the blood rushes from his face. He’s got an answer ready, though, and he manages to keep the panic from his voice. “It's a go-bag, just in case.” The hand in his hair twists and he winces. “It’s for us! There're drugs all over this place, Matt, I just thought if the cops came, we'd want to-”

“Don't you fucking lie!” Mattias spits. He takes hold of Luk’s throat and shoves his face down into the pile of clothes. “All your size. All _your fucking size_. How are you gonna explain that, huh? How the FUCK are you gonna explain this shit?!” He drags Luk up and squeezes his throat, gripping his jaw with his other hand as he literally lifts him off the floor.

“Matt, please--!” Lukas chokes out. He claws at Mattias’ hands and kicks against his legs, desperate to get away. “I can't breathe! _Please_!”

The kicks and the scratches are all proof. Lukas is fighting him. He's going to run, he's going to _leave_ him, and Mattias can't let him go. He’s not going to let this happen again. Not after Tino’s little stunt broke his heart and nearly landed him in prison. He throws Lukas down and grabs his shirt as he tries to scramble away, dragging him back.

“How fucking dare you!” he yells, raising his fist. “You wanna leave?! You wanna try and _leave me_ like that little cunt?! Who is it you’re seeing?”

“It's not like that, I _swear_! Let go and just _talk to me_!” Lukas begs. Matt’s fist comes down hard against his jaw. He yelps, but adrenaline blinds him to the pain. Every muscle in his body is tense, telling him to fight back and run. He grabs Matt’s wrist and struggles to twist his way free, but Matt pulls him back again and his shirt tears.

“Stop it!” Lukas yells. “You're hurting me, and you promised! You _swore_ we weren’t going to be like this again!” Lukas doesn’t know why he believed it, why he still clings to the hope that Mattias will keep his promise to calm the monster that’s inside of him. Perhaps it’s because he’s in love. It's hard to remember that, with Matt above him looking like a nightmare. Yet, somehow, Lukas is the one who is starting to feel guilty.

“Oh yeah, like you swore you loved me, that you’d never leave me? You’re a fucking liar!” Mattias bellows, and brings his fist down again.

Lukas’ head snaps to the side with the force of the blow. He can taste blood in his mouth and feel exactly where his right eye is going to swell. It's already shut against the pain, abandoning him to half-blind panic. He shoves at Matt’s hands and struggles to get free, either by force or by begging. “I'm sorry! Fuck, goddamnit, Matt, stop!”

Mattias climbs on top of him to stop his squirming, digging his fingers into Luk’s shoulders as he holds him down. There's no way he's letting Luk escape. No one is ever going to abandon him again. He grabs Luk’s jaw, yanking him up and screaming in his face. “You lied to me! You _swore_ you were mine!”

Lukas’ head cracks against the floor when Mattias drops him again, sending white sparks through what vision he has left. His arms get pinned beneath Matt's legs, and by the time he can see again Matt’s hands are wrapped around his throat. “M-matt! I'm sorry! I…I love you, I swear! _Please_!” he chokes, gasping between each word.

“You’re a LIAR!” Mattias roars. Luk won't leave him. He _can't_ fucking leave him, Matt needs him. So he's going to make sure Lukas is too scared to even walk out their door. He throttles him, nails digging into his throat. “You're mine! You're never gonna leave– You're MINE! You don't get to leave until I make you!”

Lukas scrambles, but his nails only break and bleed against the carpet. He can't even speak. His eyes go wide and terrified as he realizes that there is no air, there's _nothing_ , his lungs shriveling in his chest and his brain starving. Spots dance behind his good eye, and his struggles slow. He’s got nothing left to fight with.

XXX

The minute Emil opens the door to the apartment, he knows something's off. Lukas’ keys are on the floor and the coffee table is on its side, like it got kicked out of the way. His eyes jolt to his brother’s bedroom when he hears thuds and shouting. It’s not the usual shouting, either – Mattias sounds livid, and Emil’s stomach give a horrified twist when he realizes that he doesn’t hear Lukas at all. He drops his backpack and races down the hall.

The bedroom door is open, and – _shit_ , Mattias has Luk on the floor, Matt’s hands wrapped around Luk’s throat. Lukas was kicking when he came in, but his legs are starting to still and his face is turning from red to purple. Emil runs for the bathroom. Mattias keeps a gun taped to the back of the toilet, just in case. It's loaded, safety on, but the Braginskis gave him a crash course in gun use and safety while he stayed with them.

That doesn’t mean he has any idea what to do with it, though. All he knows is that his brother is in trouble, and there’s no way Emil can stand against Mattias with his bare hands. His hands shake as he returns to the bedroom and aims his gun at Mattias’ back – but if he fires, he might hit Lukas, too. This isn’t like a video game where his allies will pop right back up.

By a devil’s miracle, Mattias moves. He releases Lukas’ throat and throws him on the bed, screaming something Emil doesn’t have the capacity to hear. He doesn’t remember pulling the trigger, but Mattias is suddenly thrown forward, blood spraying across the sheets. He hits the side of the bed and then crumples to the floor in a heap.

Luk’s throat opens and he gasps for air. It feels like he’s swallowing a cactus, but it’s the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. He chokes on it, coughing as his nervous system takes over and backs him away from the nearest threat. It takes him far too long to realize that there’s blood spattered over his clothes and his ears are ringing from a gunshot. He stares at the doorway as the figure there slowly swims into focus. “Emil?” he croaks.

“Holy shit.” says Emil. They stare at one another from across the room.

There’s a groan from the floor and Lukas looks down. Mattias is on the floor, blood quickly soaking his shirt. Emil has a gun. The blood on Lukas is not his own. His little brother just _shot_ his boyfriend, and- He nearly falls off the bed in his haste to reach Mattias. “Oh my God, what have you _done_?”

Emil’s eyes blow wide when he sees the mess of blood on the floor, and the gun drops from his cold, shaking fingers. Oh shit. Oh fucking shit, he just shot Mattias. He just _shot_ him. “Oh God, oh shit, holy shit, what do we-”

Emil reaches toward the bed, but Lukas screams at him. “ _Stay away_!”

Emil leaps back, and Lukas draws in another slow, sore breath. The logical part of his brain is slowly starting up again, and he knows they need to be calm. He's an EMT, he’s trained to deal with these things.

“Stay away,” he repeats, gently this time. “We can...we're going to fix this.” He pulls a T-shirt from the bed and balls it up against the wound in the side of Matt’s stomach, then turns him gently. He taps his face, and sees the man’s eyes flicker. “Matt? Can you hear me?”

“We have to get out of here,” Emil says. “Luk, we have to _leave_ , okay? We can't just-” He stops himself, because Luk is actually trying to wake Mattias and help him.

Lukas lifts Matt’s shirt to see the wound and bites his lip. They have to get him to a hospital, but they can't go to a hospital. No one can know what Emil's done. This is murder; no, not murder. Emil only acted to save Lukas’ life. He can't let Emil be the one to get in trouble for this. Emil should never have been involved at all. He should have told him to stay with Eduard and be happy.

He hugs Matt, resting his bruised face briefly against his boyfriend's. “It's all my fault,” he whispers, not sure which one of them he's really talking to. He looks up again, taking stock of his horrified little brother. They need help. “Get my kit, then get the car,” Lukas says. “We'll take him to Berwald.”

XXX

It’s been 24 hours since the shootout at La Citta, and things at the clinic have barely slowed down. Victims with smaller wounds, or the ones who couldn’t come yesterday, lined up at Berwald’s door. They were from all sides of the conflict, and even with Tino’s help it was difficult to keep them all under control. He finally ordered the worst offenders to get out, untreated, and told the rest they were to keep to themselves or his doors would be shut to every last one of them. The rest of the afternoon was smoother, and he was grateful that he never had to call in a favor with Mattias and Lukas to ferry people to the hospital. He figures the police were more involved this time, and since it happened at a single location it was easier for them to round up the victims and send them to a hospital.

Things slowed down in the evening, and both Berwald and Tino are grateful for the chance to doze together on the couch. Unfortunately, their peace is interrupted by the sound of screeching tires. Tino jolts up, pushing Berwald a little so that he can see out the window. “Shit,” he hisses. “That’s Luk’s car.”

“Not again,” Berwald grumbles. He stands and guides Tino gently toward the rooms where their other patients are resting. Tino doesn't need to be involved; Berwald never wants to give Mattias the opportunity to touch him again. “I'll take care of Lukas. You check on the others, and clear a bed if you can.”

Tino nods and kisses Berwald quickly before they head in opposite directions.

When he reaches the door, Berwald is surprised to see Emil jumping out of the driver’s side. The boy calls for a stretcher, and Bernie hesitates; he might need Tino’s help after all. His agoraphobia is like an invisible force-field across his door, one that will cause everything to crumble if he takes even one step into the parking lot. He’s about to call for Tino’s help when Lukas stumbles out of the car with Mattias, and he's too dumbstruck to do anything but stare.

Adrenaline has given Lukas the strength to carry Mattias this far without help, but his reserves are nearly gone and Mattias is not light. The light spilling out from the clinic is calling to him like the gates of heaven, and there's Berwald, St. Peter himself, collecting the names but unmovable from his post. “Help me,” he begs. “Please, Bernie, help! I can’t carry him any further!”

Emil rushes to Mattias’ other side and tries to lift him. He weighs more than either of them, and he's still breathing, which makes him wary.

Berwald shakes himself, forcing his mind into 'doctor' mode, where the _who_ and _why_ of things don't matter. First, he has to get them through the door. “TIN!” he bellows, reaching for the gurney they keep by the door.

Tino’s there in an instant, taking the gurney and wheeling it past Berwald before he fully assesses the situation. He’s almost reached Lukas and Emil when he sees- “ _Matt_?!”

Lukas helps Tino lift him on the stretcher, pushing hair out of Matt's face with bloody hands. The shadows of twilight play tricks on Luk’s good eye, shifting his boyfriend’s face between man and monster. Terror is still pumping through his blood and making his head spin, and then there’s his poor brother...he glances at Emil. “It'll be okay. Go inside, everything...everything will be fine.”

“You're _joking_ ,” Emil hisses, his fists curling as Tino straps Matt down and rolls him through the back door. Matt's body is pale and his eyes are unfocused, but still dark with something dangerous. Emil watches his brother run alongside the gurney, affection and fear in his eyes even as the skin around his throat bruises.

When he first saw them in the parking lot, Berwald figured Mattias finally managed to overdose; figured that at least Lukas was walking, and that’s an improvement from many of his visits. But when Tino guides them through the door and the full light of the hall washes over them, he sucks in a breath. The two are splattered with blood, and Lukas is pressing trauma pads against Matt’s side. Luk's face is swelling badly, and there are angry bruises forming around his throat. Emil follows them, evidently unharmed, but shaking and with a wild look in his eyes.

Tino steers Mattias into their smallest exam room; there’s barely enough room to fit a bed and the gurney, but it’s the only one that’s still empty. He and Berwald lift Mattias onto the bed and shove the gurney back into the hall and out of the way. Tino checks Matt’s pupils while Berwald goes to examine the wound. Matt's vision is unfocused, there’s blood in his mouth, and the wound smells foul. He's never seen Mattias look so out of it, not even when he was high. Tino can hardly believe it. Mattias always seemed invincible, so to see him like this…he doesn’t know how to feel.

He taps on Matt’s cheek gently and shines a light in his eyes. “Matt? Mattias? Can you hear me?”

Mattias blinks sluggishly and turns a little. The face in front of his own keeps shifting, one moment Tino and the next Lukas. He smiles for him, whichever one it is. “Hey, doll. Knew you couldn’t stay away,” he whispers.

Tino jolts back, nearly knocking over the tray behind him.

Berwald frowns, but he can only spare Tino the briefest of glances as he lifts up the edge of the bandage to find the wound underneath. “Gunshot,” he says quietly.

“I put a pressure bandage on it, I kept him under the shock blanket – I think it missed his arteries but nicked his intestines,” Lukas rambles. His world is spinning out of control and he can’t get a grip on his thoughts. “I tried to find the exit, or if pieces broke off, but I can't see, I can't--think.”

Bernwald presses the bandage back down and pauses, chancing a better look at Lukas and Tino. Their expressions are broken, and he can see Emil’s terrified face in the hall just beyond. None of them should have to see this. He’s not sure this is a wound he can fix on his own, but Tino shouldn’t be forced to help the man who nearly killed him.

“Tino, take them out to the kitchen and take care of Luk. Looks like he's hurt, too. I'll call if I need you,” Berwald says.

“Right.” Tino nods, his hands shaking as he moves away from Matt’s desperate, half-vacant stare. He turns to Lukas instead; he never knows how to act around Luk. They have a little too much in common, and Luk’s always been difficult to read. But today they’re both lost, and he can see the reflection of his own pain in Luk’s eyes. Tino puts a hand on Luk’s back. “Let's get you-”

“No! I can help, I have to fix it, it's my fault!” He darts away from Tino and reaches for his boyfriend’s hand. He freezes just as his fingers brush against Matt’s, a sudden flash of memory wrapping those same fingers around his throat.

Berwald inserts himself between Lukas and Matt. “Y'can't help,” he says gently. “Not like this. You need to take care of yourself, and Emil, too.”

This time, Lukas does not resist the gentle pressure of Tino’s hand on his shoulder. They file out, leaving Berwald alone with Mattias: the doctor and the dealer.

Mattias’ body is failing him. A cloud seems to have dropped over his vision, and when he tries to open his mouth he finds that his tongue is too thick and heavy. Pain radiates from his side, but it’s slowly fading to a numbness he doesn't recognize. Not the good numbness, not the kind that comes with pills or a needle or a good fuck. He can hear his heart pumping, feel every beat pump his blood out of his body instead of through it, cold fear taking its place.

Berwald’s frown deepens as he continues his examination, keeping constant pressure against the entry wound. Mattias’ pulse is bad, and his eyes aren’t reacting correctly to the light. The wound itself is as bad as Lukas feared, passing into his abdomen and through his intestines. Not good at all, but there’s still a chance if he can tie off the organs, close up the wound, and get Mattias to a hospital that has better equipment and the medicine to stave off the infection already spreading from the rupture in his guts. And yet...

“Why should I?” Berwald whispers, not sure who he's talking to. God, maybe, if there is such a figure – the same one who sent Tino and saved his life all those years ago. “He’s not a good man. Worse than most. If he lives, he’s going to hurt them again. Tino, Lukas, Emil – and whoever's next.”

There is no answer from above. Just the eyes on his walls, watching him work. There are no pictures in this room, but he can feel them anyway. His family: Victor and Peter, his husband and his little boy. They were _good_ people, honest and kind and innocent. They died. Some bastard crushed their bodies, and no doctor saved them – certainly not him.

Berwald saves murderers, thieves, and rapists every day; there's a whole crowd of them in the other exam rooms. He let Ivan Braginski get away with beating at least two people to death. He let Ludwig and Feliciano walk out healed, guaranteed to bring harm to anyone foolish enough to be in their debt. He let Gilbert Beilschmidt abuse his lovers and spread HIV through his dual addictions to sex and drugs. Now he’s been letting Mattias get away with the same damn thing, all because he swore he would never say a word. He thought he could save more lives that way, that the people in this broken city might go to him even if they refused to go to the hospital.

His fists clench, and he feels that old hunger rising. It’s a deep, empty pain that claws at his insides and begs to be filled. He thought he could fill it by working; thought he could repay his debts to whatever god kept him alive by treating anyone who walked through his door. But maybe...maybe that wasn’t the point all along. Maybe he isn’t meant to save everyone.

Berwald stares down at Mattias. If there is no answer from God, let the man speak for himself. “Mattias. Why should I help you?”

Mattias stares up through the fog at...someone. He can't tell who it is anymore. Where's Luk? Where's- “Tino?” He hears his own voice echoing in his head. _Tino_. Tino, who loved him. Who left him. And now Lukas has done the same. They’ve left him numb, cold, and frightened. “Lu…?”

“You don't deserve to see him,” Berwald growls. “You don’t deserve to see either of them. Not ever again, after what y'did to them. They're better off without you.”

He can see Tino's bruised arm and Luk’s bruised face, or the glass in his belly, or burns from Matt's cigarettes. He can imagine Tino trapped in the basement, raped and tortured simply because he wanted to escape Mattias. Berwald’s mind jumps one step further, and he sees Mattias behind the wheel of a car, speeding through the night and sending a black Mercedes off the road in a shriek of steel and bone. His husband. His son. His newfound love. His friend. They all could have died at this man's hands. Now Mattias' life is his, and maybe that is the answer he's been waiting for. He's not a doctor anymore, after all, and he has just two promises to keep: do no harm, tell no secrets.

Mattias can't hear anything anymore, or at least he can't process the noise. The world is swirling soft and white around him, fading out and slipping through his fingers like sand. “L-Lukas…Tino…” He calls for them again, because he doesn't understand. How could they leave him like that? How could they leave him just when things got difficult, leave him to deal with it all? But God, he loved them. He wants them to know. Beyond pain and fear, he wants them to know they were loved.

If there is one thing Berwald has learned working in emergency medicine, it is that death stinks. You can smell it long before it comes, especially when a man's intestines have ruptured. It's more than blood leaking through Matt's system and onto the table. He's not killing Mattias; just not saving him. Even if he tried it would probably be too late. He might be able to give the man some comfort, though. Wrap him in something warmer, let his lover say goodbye, give him one last drink.

Berwlad goes to his cabinets and retrieves a bottle of whiskey, kept for those days when he's out of antiseptic or anesthetic. He opens the cap and inhales; it’s the only thing he’s found that overpowers the smell of death. He hasn't had a drink in years, not a single drop. Damn Mattias for ruining that as well. He stands in front of him and takes a long sip. It burns his throat and heats him up from the inside out, all while Mattias goes cold.

There is no one that Mattias can see now. The place he’s in is dark, except for a light far ahead and the ghost of his memories behind him. He can feel the tips of his fingers growing colder and looser, his body slowing its rhythm. He’s afraid to move. The light ahead is unsettling, and memories snap at his heels like vipers. He hates being alone. He wishes he could see them all again: his family, his friends, Tino, Lukas… He wants to tell them he’s sorry, that he loves them and he’d do anything to keep them safe, if only they’d come keep him company in the dark.

Berwald keeps staring at Mattias after the life has gone out of him, taking the occasional drink. If he can get good and drunk within the next hour, all the better. It would be nice to forget this man ever existed at all. With a deep sigh, he turns Mattias onto his back and closes his eyes. The relaxed expression makes him look almost innocent. _Almost_. Just enough to make Berwald's gut twist with a guilt he knows he will carry for the rest of his life.

XXX

Lukas sits stone still while Tino washes away the blood and bandages his cuts. He stares straight ahead and tries to remember where things went so wrong. Their relationship wasn't like this in the beginning. Mattias had annoyed him until he agreed to go on a date, and then he was so damn charming that Luk agreed to a second. He’d heard his coworkers whisper about Tino’s relationship and how it ended, but believed it was only gossip. Matt was always smiling and laughing, always kind to him and to the patients, and wouldn’t he have been in jail if he really locked someone in his basement?

But Lukas had forgotten the power of Yao Wang and his drugs. He’d run drugs for Yao before, desperate for the money to keep his brother fed. When Yao learned he was an EMT and offered him double to partner with Matt and steal from Mercy Hospital, he leapt at the chance. And if he and Matt indulged once in a while – well, that was only a way to take the edge off. But drugs changed Mattias; they seemed to make him more anxious, and turned their arguments into fist fights that left Lukas too exhausted to fight back. He ended up so focused on keeping all three of them afloat he forgot why it mattered in the first place. 

Luk reaches for his brother's hand. “I'm sorry, Emil. For everything.”

Emil squeezes his hand, feeling limp and listless and unable to believe this is real. He wants to cry. He wants to scream, to... He doesn’t know. Something. He can’t believe what he's done, even if he doesn’t quite regret it. “I'm sorry too,” he gasps out, voice hoarse with emotion.

Lukas shakes his head. “It's not your fault. It never has been, and I'm so, so sorry. I should have...it's my  fault. All of this. Now I don't know what to do. We can't just leave him, and we can't tell anyone what happened or you could...” He stops and swallows, refusing to look at Tino. Emil is innocent, and he will not let his mistakes haunt his brother.

Tino raises his eyebrows. Ah. That makes sense. He presses a cold rag to Luk's slowly swelling eye. “I'm sorry, I just went deaf for a minute. Were you talking about penguins?”

Tino senses a presence in the doorway and looks up. Berwald moves very quietly for a big man, but they’ve worked together long enough for Tino to anticipate him – most of the time. He tries to smile, but it quickly dissolves when he notices Bernie’s pained expression and, worse, the bottle dangling from his fingers. “What’s wrong?”

Berwald shakes his head. He's never been one to soften bad news; he doesn't really know how. “Matt's dead.”

“ _What_?” Lukas chokes. His lungs close up and his chest tightens, as though he’s the one that’s been shot. He pushes Tino away and stumbles to his feet. “You were going to save him. It was just one shot, _how can he be dead_?!”

“Oh my God,” Emil murmurs, sick and terrified. “Oh- Oh my God, I... This is...”

Tino slowly rises to his feet, part of him breaking in half at the news. Mattias is dead. Matt... Matt is dead. He can hardly process the fact that the nightmare he's had for the last 7 years has just ended. Badly. He takes a step toward Bernie, unsure if he feels free or utterly lost. “What happened?”

“I couldn't save him. He bled out; wound was septic anyway,” Berwald replies. Luk is still covered in cuts and bruises, even after everything Tino's done to help. Maybe that will help Berwald sleep; there is no doubt in his mind that if it had not been Mattias who died tonight, it would have been Luk. It could have been Tino. “Besides,” he adds, then pauses to take a long drink. “I’m not a doctor. M'just...just a crazy drunk.”

Tino stares at the whiskey. Behind him, Emil lets out a strangled cry and curls into his chair as though he's just lost his soul. Breathing out slowly, Tino looks between his patients and his doctor, trying to figure out what to do.

“Stay right here,” he says after a moment, grabbing Bernwald by the collar and dragging him back to the exam room. He pales at the sight of Matt’s body, covered in one of the stained spare sheets. He can't look at it. He whips around and slaps the bottle from Bernie’s fingers. “What the _hell_ were you thinking?!”

Bernwald winces. Tino’s pain - _that_ he is sorry for. That's all. He wants to hug Tino, but even though he's cleaned his hands and removed the gloves, his scrubs are still covered in blood. He's not sure if Tino will want his touch, anyway. “I'd rather save you’nd Lukas than a man like him,” he says. “I’ve done it for too long, kept too many secrets that’ve hurt people. S'over now. He can't hurt you again, or anyone else.”

Tino’s breath starts to come fast, irregular, his eyes blowing wide as he realizes what Berwald's saying. “You let him die,” he whispers. “You let him die. Oh my God.”

Tino steps back, bumping into the table and jumping out of his skin when the sheet shifts to reveal Matt’s frozen face. Part of him is relieved. Part of him wants to hug Bernie, kiss him, tell him it will be alright... even thank him. “What're we going to do?”

“What we always do when we can't save someone. S'no different. He bled out; it wouldn't've mattered,” Berwald says, half to himself. When someone at the clinic dies, they do their best to return them to their family and friends. If not...well, no one in the city’s underworld wants their baggage to show up at the police station, so the bodies disappear. Mattias will be just one more. “We’ve got to clean. Get rid of the sheets, sanitize everything. Don't want to spread the virus. Then I’m going to get very, very drunk. Think y'should join me. It’ll be better if we forget.”

“I...” Tino watches Berwald, finally understanding why he has that bottle with him. It makes sense, but it also hurts. He doesn't want to see Bernie drunk and broken, the way he was before. But perhaps, if they’re together...

“I need to take care of Luk and Emil,” Tino says. He heads back out toward the kitchen and finds it empty. He doesn't know why he's surprised.


End file.
